


To the Moon and Back

by MidnightBlast



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - early 1970s Apollo Program, Apollo Space Program, Astronauts, Betrayal, Blackmail, But Emma has her ways, F/M, Hero/Villain Duality, NASA, Period Typical Attitudes, Secretary!Emma, Slow Burn, astronaut!Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 73,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightBlast/pseuds/MidnightBlast
Summary: With Emma's good, steady job at NASA and a swell guy on her arm, maybe...just maybe this is what happiness feels like. That’s when British Captain Killian “Hook” Jones arrives for launch of Apollo 19 - the first Mission of International Cooperation to the moon - and the gravity of her world turns upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long live Captain Swan! Now in an early-1970s Apollo Space Program AU flavor!
> 
> A few notes, then on with the show:  
> 1\. This is based on history, but it's also rooted in a show about fairy tales. It is romanticized and there are historical inaccuracies – hopefully nothing too glaring, though I'd love to hear your thoughts!  
> 2\. I searched for a British Military branch rank of 'Captain' and didn't yield a result that seemed appropriate for Killian's age/position. As such, please excuse the RAF rank disconnect, cause really, whoever heard of Lt. Hook?  
> 3\. I'm a space dork and a pirate girl, so this fic has truly been born from my utmost love of both. The real men and women of the Apollo Space Program have my undying respect and admiration for all that they accomplished. Major credit goes to those real-life folks where credit is due in this fic.
> 
> Cheers, y'all!

A drop of sweat rolled down Emma’s spine. She didn’t know how Mary Margaret and Mrs. Mills always managed to look so cool and breezy in the oppressive Florida humidity. By comparison, Emma always felt like a soggy, sticky mess. But that’s probably why Mary Margaret and Mrs. Mills were astronauts’ wives, and Emma was the unwed secretary for the Director of the Office of Chief Astronaut.

Day to day, it was a distinction that had no bearing on her life. She worked hard for her reputation and position, and wouldn’t trade it for anything. Her previous typing pool post in Boston came with a decent reference when she decided a drastic change of scenery was needed. Her application to the Kennedy Space Center - KSC - typing pool had been a complete lark. Yet when they selected her for the position, it didn’t take them long to recognize the value in her ability to chase things to completion, her tenacity to never let a question die, and her ability to anticipate future needs. When the secretarial position opened, Director Midas hadn’t hesitated to promote her.

During the Apollo 16 mission, she nearly drowned under the tidal wave of her new position. Apollo 17 executed smoother than she anticipated, and by Apollo 18, the job was a breeze. But Apollo 19 would be their most important mission yet.

The Mission of International Cooperation. The first of its kind with a command module crew of mixed nationalities. How better to show the world a unified front against the Russians then to pair America in space with her closest ally across the pond, Great Britain.

Director Kingsley Midas didn’t look to weather the midafternoon heat any better than she did. Sweat beaded along his brow and likely stained the white shirt beneath his dark suit jacket. It wasn’t a long walk from the car into the hanger, but high spring temperatures had descended on the cape with a vengeance.

“You’ve confirmed that the press doesn’t know?” Midas asked, flashing his security badge at the sergeant on duty outside the hanger.

“Yes, sir,” Emma answered, showing her own badge, “there’s no report or speculation of the astronauts relocating yet.”

“When’s the press conference scheduled?”

“Two weeks.”

“Very good. Time to get the crew settled and in routine before we introduce them to the world.”

“Yes, sir.” The shade of the hanger was a welcome reprieve from the blazing sun even if it wasn’t air conditioned. So few spaces at KSC had that luxury.

“Director Midas, welcome” a lieutenant approached with a quick nod, “Captain Jones is on final approach and should be on the tarmac in five.”

Midas’ smile widened with visible excitement. “Excellent, thank you.”

Emma offered a closed-mouth smile as the lieutenant stepped away, walking towards the open bay doors. She still remembered being surprised at the announcement and that happened four years ago before she even worked at NASA. But it had made national and international headlines overnight - the first non-American to be eligible for a lunar mission. RAF Captain Killian “Hook” Jones, announced with Astronaut Group 5 and relocated for training in Houston, TX. Until now.

With the launch of Apollo 19 three short months away, Director Midas had deemed it time to relocate the crew to Cape Canaveral. With the high profile of their international crew member and the ever-present threat of red spies, it only made sense to locate the last critical months of preparation to the secure, remote KSC.

For weeks, Emma had processed boxes of documents from their Houston preparations – medical records, test evaluations, training certifications. Of course, everything would be checked and re-qualified prior to launch, but she’d seen enough to know the important role that proper paperwork routing served.

In fact, when Midas had interrupted her with the news that they would greet Captain Jones personally on arrival, she had been less than thrilled. The boxes continued to pile up and there was always something to do in preparation for a launch.

“Ah, there he is.” Midas’ voice drew her back and she glanced out the open bay doors to see the sleek metal jet come into view, gliding to a gentle stop. With a subtle gesture, she brushed at her blonde waves and smoothed the drape of her blouse and pencil skirt, adjusting the hold on her portfolio. There was only one chance to make a first impression, after all - and she’d met her fair share of hotdog, ace pilots who only regarded her as a pretty skirt. But that was their mistake.

Midas chuckled softly next to her and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks. “You needn’t worry, Miss Swan. You look quite pretty today, and I’m sure the captain will notice. Though, I hear tales from Houston that he’s quite the ladies’ man, so you’d do best to remember yourself. This office does not need a scandal.”

“Of course not. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, sir.” And, truthfully, it hadn’t. Of course, she’d seen photos of the bachelor captain and couldn’t deny his rather striking looks. It made sense that other women would notice them, too. But Emma was currently spoken for and hadn’t looked back...yet. But with Walsh, maybe she wouldn’t. A wave of anxiety pulled at her gut but she quickly squashed it, knowing this was not the time or place. Especially as she looked up to see the captain climb down from his jet, lifting the helmet free of his head.

His tousled dark hair only turned more disheveled as he ran a hand through it, teasing volume into the flattened locks. It lent an undeniably roguish quality to him, despite the unflattering, military flight suit. His infectious smile shone, even at this distance, as he talked to the ground crew and headed into the shade of the hanger, slinging a small duffel bag over his shoulder. That’s when she noticed the piercing clear blue of his eyes. It painted a sharp contrast to the dark hair, but paired perfectly with his brilliant smile.

Emma couldn’t deny he looked appealing - far better than any photograph allowed - and the cocksure swagger about him more than suggested that he knew all too well about his good looks. Then again, he was also a fighter pilot and she had yet to meet one who didn’t believe he was God’s gift to the world. Even if astronauts these days had more engineering brains than the wild cowboys of the Mercury Program, they were still all testosterone-fueled, adrenaline junkies. Well, with exception of David Nolan perhaps. He was a regular Prince Charming by comparison.

“Captain Jones, welcome!” Midas’ voice boomed in the hanger as he extended a hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Jones’ words carried a silky, lilting accent as he took Midas’ hand. “I’m honored to be here.”

“And we’re honored to have you here.” Midas looked to her, gesturing. “Allow me to introduce my secretary, Miss Swan.”

She inclined her head politely. “Welcome to Kennedy Space Center, Captain Jones.”

The blue of his eyes proved even more blinding when they connected with hers and he held out a hand. “Miss Swan. Truly a pleasure.”

With a shaky smile, she reached her hand out to his. It always made her nervous - was her grip too soft? Too tight? Most men didn’t professionally shake her hand so she’d never had a lot of practice. She released his hand, resisting the urge to bite the inside of her cheek. His shrewd gaze didn’t miss any part of her reaction, a faint hint of intrigue flashing across his face.

Midas barreled ahead. “I'll have you know that Miss Swan is the best secretary I’ve had in my time at NASA. Pretty as a picture, and a head for the details, too. My office is always open to you, young man - but if you cannot locate me, Miss Swan will be able to help you or take a message.”

“Aye, sir.” Jones’ reply carried the swiftness of military command.

“Daily briefings at 0600 will set the order for the day, and Miss Swan will serve as the official keeper of yours and the rest of the crew’s schedules as approved by my office. Miss Swan,” Midas turned to her with an impatient gesture and an anxious smile, “the captain's schedule for today, please?”

She flipped open the portfolio in hand, pulling out the piece of paper.

With a bemused grin, Jones took it with his free hand, skimming the typed words. “Thank you, lass. Every detail well and truly accounted for.”

“Excuse me, director,” footsteps clicked off the concrete floor as the lieutenant from earlier interrupted, looking tentatively between Midas and Jones, “but we've had a flight schedule update for Captain Mills tomorrow.”

“Oh, gracious,” Midas nearly groaned, “has Mrs. Mills changed her mind? _Again?_ ” The lieutenant looked just as frustrated as Midas’ tone suggested and the director shook his head. “Excuse me, please, while I sort this out.” He pulled on the lapels of his suit jacket, stepping off with the lieutenant towards a phone on the wall that rested off the hook.

Emma rocked on her heels, debating whether or not to strike up a conversation. Perhaps it would just be better to wait for him. But, perhaps not. She glanced up, catching him with a polite smile. “So, captain...how did you find Houston?”

“Rather oppressive,” a light tease infused his words, “it's amazing that human beings have survived in such heat and humidity without evolving gills.”

“There are plenty who would say the same about life here on the cape, too.”

“Would you?” He arched a brow. “Or are you a native with secret ways of combating the water vapor invasion?”

She just barely resisted rolling her eyes. “No secrets here, ace.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s bad form to lie in the first meeting, love.” He paused, as if just realizing something. “And speaking of bad form - unless your first name really is ‘miss’, then Director Midas was spectacularly remiss in his introduction.”

Her brow pinched in mild suspicion and annoyance, debating not answering him. But what did it matter? He’d learn it eventually in the next three months. “Emma.”

His smile filled out to the bright white of his press photos and she didn’t give him the satisfaction of returning it. He wasn’t the first man to innocently or otherwise flirt with her, and he wouldn’t be the last. But with Walsh in her life right now, she didn’t need to risk sending any encouraging signals.

She pursed her lips, swallowing hard and taking a side step. “Well, please don’t let me keep you.” She gestured towards the collection of rooms at the back of the hanger.

“Ah yes,” he waved the schedule, gazing at his wristwatch before scanning the paper again. “Officially, I’m already late. According to this, I should be ‘refreshing from my flight’, though I won’t deny that conversing with you is quite refreshing.”

She didn’t hold back the eye-roll this time. “And I’m sure you’ll still think that in three months, no matter how obtrusive my presence.”

He hefted his duffel bag against his shoulder, deftly crimping the schedule in half with one hand. “I highly doubt obtrusive is a word I would ever apply to you. Though, lovely as this is, a shower does indeed sound appealing.” He tugged at his collar despite the folder paper in his hand. “Flight suits don’t exactly breathe.”

The motion drew her gaze to the drops of moisture that teased the slope of his throat. Nothing about it should make her want to taste his skin but the impulse lingered just the same. Mentally shaking from the thought, she again motioned towards the door at the back of the hanger that she knew lead to the pilot locker room. “A car will be waiting when you’re finished to take you to your residence. The Director’s office is located in the Operations and Checkout Building which is where we’ll see you tomorrow morning for the daily briefing. You'll find additional instructions and information waiting at your residence when you arrive.”

“Very thorough, as advertised.”

She nodded stiffly and knew what she had to say next. Even if she already dreaded the captain’s response, Director Midas wouldn’t expect her to behave any different. “Is there anything else I can help you with at this time, captain?”

He arched a suggestive brow, taking a few steps towards the locker room. “Is that an offer to wash my back?”

Her face pinched with irritation, watching his mouth curl with a glinting, insufferable smirk, before she turned away. She resolutely didn’t look back as he called after her.

“For the record, Swan, that’s not a ‘no’.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, you met him yesterday. Didn’t you?” Ruby wasted no time. The coffee hadn’t even finished brewing as she and Emma arranged the rest of the service.

“Met who?” Emma knew the question was a poor attempt at diversion, but if it delayed her thinking about Captain Jones for a little longer, the better.

Ruby huffed with mild annoyance, rolling her eyes under her perfectly coiffed hair. “You know very well who. He’s been all the rage of the typing pool for the last two months.” She reached for a stack of square napkins, emblazoned with the red ‘NASA’ logo. “Captain Jones, of course.”

Emma finished topping off the cream pitcher and put the carton back in the fridge. “I did. And yes, he’s just as handsome as his press photos. But he’s an outrageous flirt. Even by your standards.”

Ruby’s heels clicked against the floor as she bounced in place. “Oh, I so look forward to meeting him. He can outrageously flirt with me anytime, every day.”

“Oh, please,” Emma shook her head, arranging the cream pitcher next to the sugar dish, “please just try and show some restraint. You needn’t chase him back to London right away.” From the first day that Emma met Ruby, the brunette made no secret about her objective in working at NASA. If she couldn’t manage to attract one of the few single astronauts for a husband, then someone else of stature in the organization would do quite nicely. Emma looked over at her with a curious look. “Though, I thought you had a thing for Dr. Whale.”

The eye-roll sounded in Ruby’s tone over the clinking of ceramic coffee cups. “If the man even knows I exist. I swear, he’s blind – no matter how much I try to attract his attention, or flaunt my assets. Honestly, I think he spends so much time studying men’s health as a flight surgeon that he’s forgotten all about the female form.”

Emma had always found Ruby’s fashion sense just this side of inappropriate for the office. Blouses that were a smidge too tight, a button popped open, skirts that edged on being too short. But to her knowledge, there hadn’t been a single dress code violation lodged against Ruby. “Either that, or maybe he’s just professional.”

“Director Midas is professional, too, but he never fails to compliment me.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “He compliments everyone. Even when his wife is standing right there. It’s grossly uncomfortable.”

“You’re only saying that since you’re dating Walsh.”

“We’re not...not that serious.”

“Yes, because I have a handsome gentleman caller who takes me out for dinner and drive-in movies weekly, but I’m still single.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush. “Alright. Maybe we’re a little more than that.” But truthfully, she didn’t know what else to say. Eight months ago, she’d taken her first chance in years and said yes to Walsh’s lunch invitation. He was new to the Public Relations office, and he hadn’t bothered to hide his interest from day one. She’d dodged several dinner invitations, and when he finally cornered her for lunch, she had been pleasantly surprised. And now, here they were. She saw him at least weekly, and she could easily admit that he was sweet. He never pushed her, never acted overt. Never behaved as less than a gentleman.

Unlike the British captain. One meeting with the man had gnawed at her more than any other hotdog astronaut she’d interacted with. Of course, it had nothing to do with the obscene color of his eyes or the way perspiration clung to his skin. She still couldn’t believe that the fleeting impulse to _taste_ him had even entered her brain. By no means was she a virgin – Neal saw to that years ago – but Walsh had never initiated anything further than chaste kisses. Surely, that’s all the impulse had been. Born of suppressed frustration that had nothing to do with the captain himself.

Ruby clanked the metal lid of the coffee carafe against the counter as she reached for the second full, steaming pot. “You should consider yourself lucky. With Walsh’s great position in the PR office, he’d easily be able to support a family.”

Truthfully, that notion bothered Emma. Yes, she’d always heard women were expected to stop working once they wed. There should be nothing standing in the way of duty to her husband and home. But Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to give it up. She enjoyed the work – she enjoyed the challenge and the thrill of a job well done. If any man, including Walsh, expected her to give it all up…well, fortunately, she didn’t have to make that decision right now.

She reached for a spare carafe, positioning it under the coffee maker’s hot water spigot. Tendrils of steam escaped as the insulated container filled. “I suppose so. But we’re a long way from talking marriage.”

“And you’re always too modest.”

A smirk tugged Emma’s mouth as she set the hot water carafe next to the coffee carafe on the service tray. “Something that wouldn’t hurt you to try from time to time.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” Ruby giggled at the good-natured tease, clapping her hands as she surveyed the assembled service tray. “Alright, everything looks perfect – oh, wait! The tea bags.” She stepped over to the cabinet, fishing out the unopened box and pulling out a selection. “I wonder if he’ll be in a tea or coffee mood today.”

Emma just held back an exasperated sigh. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Well, I just hope it doesn’t go to waste.” She placed the dish of tea bags next to the hot water carafe, smiling down in satisfaction. “There. We are ‘Go’ for launch of the daily briefing coffee service.”

Emma huffed an amused breath as she pushed the service cart forward, ceramic and metal rattling softly. Ruby held open the break room door, leading the way down the hall towards the director’s conference room. The briefing wouldn’t start for another 30 minutes but Emma knew Director Midas and Commander Nolan always arrived at least fifteen minutes early.

“Thanks, Ruby.” Emma pushed the cart through the door, held open by Ruby’s hand.

“Don’t mention it,” Ruby smiled warmly, “and now I need to go tend to the reports from yesterday. The director wants seven copies by 8 am.”

Emma wished her well before turning to the business of readying the conference room. With the coffee service prepared and arranged, she set about straightening the chairs and settings at each seat. She had neat copies of daily schedules for every attendee present, along with a meeting agenda, laying each person’s paperwork at their preassigned seat. It was the same soothing routine every morning and there was something almost cathartic about going through the familiar motions.

The soft hiss of the door hydraulic hinge startled her as she laid out the last agenda. She looked up with wide eyes – surely, it was too early for someone to arrive already. Her mouth tightened to a thin line as she recognized the new arrival.

“Good morning, Swan.” Captain Jones sounded far too awake for such an early hour. Perhaps he already had some caffeine this morning, and if not – then she wanted no part of such a bright morning person. Nothing about his physical appearance gave him away one way or another. His dark suit was freshly pressed, white shirt stark beneath it and offset with a slim, black tie. His hair had been tamed into something much more respectable than yesterday, but still had just a hint of rakish tousle.

“Good morning, captain.” She glanced back down to the table, arranging the last set of documents. “You’re quite early, but the others should arrive soon. May I get you some tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’m able to serve myself.” He stepped up to the service tray, ceramic clinking as he righted a cup. Hopefully, if Director Midas did choose this moment to arrive, Captain Jones would vouch that she had offered to serve him. That was part of her expected duties during these briefings and Jones had just usurped it. Was this going to be a daily occurrence going forward? The muscles of her jaw tightened.

“Apologies if I’m interrupting you too early,” his words carried softly over the sound of liquid pouring, “first day impressions and all that.”

She wanted to scoff. He’d been in training for four years – this was hardly his first day. Instead, she forced a congenial smile. “It’s alright. Commander Nolan should be here soon but he’s not used to playing second fiddle.”

“Then, treasure this second one - apologies if I’ve offended you.” He glanced up from stirring his coffee, fixing her with a strangely serious stare.

She wanted to downplay it, but his gaze was far too perceptive for that. Clearly, he had no trouble reading her agitation with him. Dammit. The thought only irked her further. “You don’t need to apologize, captain.”

He moved away from the cart, coming closer towards her. “Well, I can't bear the thought of your constant irritation for the next three months.”

“Then, don’t irritate me.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up with a hint of that smirk from yesterday. The one that curled with a wicked edge, reaching his eyes with a playful gleam. “Then, I shall endeavor not to, my lady.”

“So now you’re going to be a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman.”

She huffed a derisive breath. “You're ridiculous.”

He arched an intrigued brow, taking a sip of his coffee. “I prefer dashing rapscallion.”

The hydraulic hinge on the door hissed and she broke from his gaze, afraid of getting caught. They were doing nothing more than talking - but goodness, if Director Midas had heard her just now, she might be fired - and suddenly she felt guilty. But maybe that was because Commander David Nolan always looked so honorable and respectable, even at this early hour of the morning.

The commander’s face warmed with a kind smile. “Good morning, Miss Swan. And Hook – you’re early.”

With a sidelong glance at Emma that spoke of a conversation to be continued, he stepped away towards his commanding officer. “Morning, David. And, of course, I’m early – had to show you up somehow.”

“And you can just keep trying.” The men shared a firm handshake that spoke to countless hours of camaraderie and familiarity over the years of training. “How was the flight?”

“Smooth sailing all the way.”

“Excellent,” David shook his head, almost regretful, “can’t say I didn’t miss it this time. It was odd riding coach, not being at the stick. Even if my wife was with me.”

Jones chuckled softly. “I can only imagine.” He took a sip of his coffee, sliding his free hand into his trouser pocket. “Did Mrs. Nolan have a comfortable flight?”

David’s gentle sigh was less than encouraging. “Unfortunately, no. It was turbulent, and with her pregnancy – I’m glad I was able to be there for her.”

Emma moved around the other side of the conference table, not exactly listening but unable to ignore the conversation as she set about making Commander Nolan’s coffee. Just a dash of sugar and splash of cream.

“Poor lass. I hope a day of rest will help her feel better.” Jones said.

“Thank you. I’m optimistic she’ll be right as rain soon.”

“Jolly good.” Jones took another sip of coffee. “Is Robin still arriving today?”

“Yes, though, he’s flying himself out now.” Jones’ eyebrows rose with the silent question before David continued. “Apparently, Regina decided not to relocate Henry and Roland for the duration of the school year. She’ll fly out closer to launch.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed excited about having them close.” He shrugged a shoulder with a playful air. “Then again, at least, now I have a wing-man to go carousing with.”

David chuckled, gentle yet reproachful. “If you have any energy or time to go carousing, then we’re not doing something right.”

“Aye, mate.” Jones saluted him with his coffee cup as Emma approached.

“Excuse me, commander,” she said softly, her practiced smile in place, “your coffee.”

“Thank you, Emma.” He took his cup with a gracious smile. “Mary Margaret and I both thank you for the fruit basket. That’s always a thoughtful gesture from the office.”

“Fruit basket?” Jones cocked a surprised brow. “Suddenly, I’m feeling slighted.”

David chuckled softly around the rim of his cup. “Get a home life, Hook. At the very least, it’s worth your weight in apples and pears.”

A dark phantom ghosted across Jones’ face and disappeared just as quick. He drew a breath to answer but stopped as the conference room door hissed open.

“Gentlemen! Good morning!” Midas’ commanding voice jovially filled the room, stalling further attempts at small talk.

Dutifully, Emma turned back towards the service tray to prepare the director’s coffee. Two spoons of sugar.

Whatever that look on Jones’ face had been just now, she couldn’t say, but it was certainly the last thing she expected. Of course, it made sense for the man to have relationship skeletons in his closet. Someone so handsome surely wouldn’t still be unmarried without at least a few scars.

It tugged at the painful memories of her own experiences. Memories that she purposefully didn’t indulge, and certainly not at the start of the daily briefing three months before mission launch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The course of true love gathers no moss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos, comments and discussion! Your feedback helps me improve and certainly encourages me - and for all of that, I cannot thank y'all enough. Cheers!

Most ace pilots stopped the flirty remarks after a couple of days. Once they got the hint that their attentions were unwelcome, it didn’t take them long to move on to greener pastures.

Unfortunately, Captain Killian Jones wasn’t like most ace pilots.

 

_“Good afternoon, Swan.” He smiled up in thanks as she set his tea on the table, along with the evaluation form. “Cheers, love.”_

_“I’m not your love.”_

_“Not yet, at least.” A saucy wink accompanied the low dip in his voice._

 

_“Captain Jones, there’s been a schedule change – you’re needed for a suit fit check.”_

_“Right now? And then I’ll come back and finish medical?” His brow pinched with confusion as he gestured at his undershirt-clad torso from where he sat in the medical suite lobby. “I’m already nearly shirtless – can’t the suit fit wait until after the lab work?”_

_Emma shook her head, the motion terse. “That’s why it’s called a schedule change. Mr. Fredericks and team are ready for you now, and medical is not.” She held out a hand, gesturing down the hallway. “Please, captain. Mr. Fredericks will have both of our heads if you’re not there in five.”_

_He slung his dress shirt and tie casually over one shoulder as he stood. “Well then, lead the way, lass,” he shot her a cheeky grin as he chuckled softly, “or do we need to start preparing our souls, cause mine will take some time.”_

 

_“That’s a lovely shade of pink on you, Swan.” His voice made her bristle, glancing up from her typewriter and resisting the urge to straighten her pale pink dress. "Brings out the color of your hair."_

_Her gaze narrowed. “I believe that you’re supposed to be on your way to the simulator, captain. Now, did you need something? Or are you just looking for a blonde to compliment? There’s a lot more than just me.”_

_“Don’t I know it.” He waggled a brow as he flashed her a reassuring, charming smile. “But, fear not - a woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention. As often as I can spare it.”_

_Her lips pinched to a tight line as she glared at him, feeling her cheeks flush in spite herself._

_His smile widened, eyes warm with fond affection. “No, I take it back -_ that  _is a much lovelier shade of pink on you.”_

 

She hefted another box freshly arrived from Houston to the top of her desk. Supposedly, this was one of the last shipments. She lifted the lid, using it briefly to fan herself, moving the stale, humid air of her reception suite area. Her desk sat outside the Director’s stately office, opposite plush armchairs for waiting visitors. She had the door to the suite open to allow better airflow, but it didn’t seem to be helping. Sadly, neither was the paltry fan mounted in the suite’s far corner.

She pulled out the topmost folder, skimming the title, faced with yet another reminder of the British captain. Mostly, it was easy not to rise to the bait of his flirty teasing. In fact, it was even easier to purse her lips and continue forward with the business at hand. It was her job.

But that didn’t stop each cheeky exchange from prickling along her skin, building to an itch beneath the surface that she couldn’t scratch. Yes, she’d had her fair share of unwanted attention over the years – and she probably always would in this business – but therein lay the concerning recognition.

She knew what shallow and callous looked like when it came to unwanted attention. But Jones' crystal blue eyes always gleamed with a genuine edge every time he set his sights on her. Something deeper lurked beneath the consummate tease that he was careful to mask, but she caught glimpses – just like that morning when David joked about getting a home life. And his sheer level of persistence spoke to a stubbornness that she could begrudgingly respect. She would be a hypocrite not to, but his particular brand of stubbornness proved most irksome. Especially when accompanied by that irritating, insufferable,  _lovely_  smirk of his.

But she had a job to do and tasks to accomplish. Simple as that, and she wasn’t about to let ‘Captain Hook’ stand in her way. But with each passing day, she couldn’t shake the festering thought that her lack of responsiveness actually encouraged him. What was she supposed to do in the face of that? She had no intention of playing hard to get, thank you very much. There was nothing for him to  _get,_ and she didn't need Walsh in her life to prove it. 

She pulled out more folders, reading labels and sorting them into stacks. Several of these would need to go to the engineering wing, several to the master archives. And these…goodness, it looked like these belonged over at the Launch Control Center.

A gentle rapping of knuckles sounded on the open door. “Hello, Swan.”

Her gaze darted up to him without her permission. Jones stood in the suite doorway, his short-sleeved collared shirt and slim dark tie neatly arranged with damp, freshly combed hair. She didn't glance at her watch, but he had probably just finished a round of physical training.

He cast a glance down the hallway before stepping further into the suite. “Is the Director in his office?”

“No, he’s out this afternoon.”

“Good.” His answer took her by surprise. “I rather hoped that I would catch you alone.” He continued to walk closer, movements conveying a casual air despite the determined purpose lingering in his gaze. The corner of his mouth teased a grin as she dropped her gaze back to the box, squaring her shoulders as she studied another title.

He hummed low, thoughtfully. “You know, most men would take your silence as off putting, but I love a challenge.”

The corners of her mouth tensed. “I’m working.”

“That’s just an excuse. But fortunately for you, I don’t need you to share – you’re something of an open book.”

“Is that so?” She steadfastly didn’t look at him, feeling her pulse race under his scrutiny as she thumbed through the box contents.

“Where other women bloom like a flower with a kind word and a smile, you...lock yourself inside your tower. Simply put, you’re afraid – afraid to talk. To reveal yourself.”

Her mouth went dry, feeling her hackles rise. He shouldn’t know her like that...not after just two weeks, not ever. She shot him a glare, meeting his sharp, challenging gaze. “None of that is relevant to our working relationship.”

His eyes searched hers, digging for the truth. “That’s the same excuse,” his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as his gaze narrowed pensively, “I don’t think it’s because you’re conservative in your sensibilities. You’re a career-woman of the modern world in a truly space-age industry, so I know you don’t hide yourself away on some prudish, demure principal.” He paused, continuing to study her. “No, it’s a defense mechanism. There’s a story there – at least one, but love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it?”

What gave him the right to corner her like this and start speaking like he knew her? Like he was genuinely concerned or truly cared for her? It made her blood boil as her stomach twisted in sickening, uncomfortable knots.

A whole new realization dawned on his face, brightening his eyes. “Have you ever even been in love?”

She refused to give him the satisfaction. “No.”

“No?”

“Have you?" Her eyes flashed on the offensive, mouth thinning to a tight line. "If you claim to recognize my insecurities so easily, then that must be because you live with them, too. But instead, you flaunt this ladykiller nonchalance to mask your own issues and hope that no one looks deeper than the obvious.” She held his gaze, refusing to back down. She'd never done well when backed in a corner.

A sly smile quirked his mouth, the tell of a cat who knew he’d trapped the mouse. “For someone who’s never been in love, you’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”

Her heart raced as she worked another hard swallow. Why did he have to look at her like that? Despite the set of his mouth, there was something painfully earnest, entreating in his eyes. Something that she couldn't deny. Perhaps...perhaps she could allow this one concession. “Maybe I was…once.” 

His face softened in the wake of her words, a warm understanding igniting in his eyes as he nodded gently.

Was...was that it? Was this a truce? Could she get back to work now? That was far safer territory than whatever this was. She sighed softly, mentally shaking herself. “Why are you here? I know you have other places to be right now.”

“No one will miss me for these five minutes. But I had to see you…," his voice dropped low, colored by something so raw and tender, "I couldn't...keep thinking about you and not do something about it.”

It should absolutely not set butterflies alight in her stomach to know that he thought about her. And she should have absolutely no interest in knowing the nature of his thoughts. She summoned a defiant expression but the shrewd edge in his gaze told her he wasn’t buying it. “And are you satisfied now?”

“That’s not quite the word I would use. We may understand each other better, but I do bristle at the thought of a woman's wounded heart."

"No idea you had such a soft side.”

He shrugged with a dismissive air, attempting a mockery of indifference despite the warmth in his eyes and voice. “I don’t. I just like a fair fight.”

“And what? You’re…you’re going to storm my tower with your sword and defend my honor…or my heart, or whatever you want to call it?”

“If my lady insists," the last hints of amusement faded from his face, his handsome countenance darkening with something much more serious, much more astute, "but I sense my greatest duel will be with the lady herself.”

She shook her head, heart pounding. “You can’t possibly hope to win.”

“Is that so?" He leaned in closer and she drew up the height of her spine, breath caught in anticipation. His mesmerizing eyes held her like a spell as the faint scent of clean soap enveloped her. "Then know that  _when_  I win your heart, Emma - and I will win it - it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me." He stepped back - clearly satisfied that he'd said his piece as he nodded gently, respectfully, eyes twinkling above a small smile. “Good day, milady.”

She exhaled a trembling breath, watching him leave. What...what the hell had he just done? Since when did winning her affections become a contest? And worse, why did her stomach flip and her heart flutter with his use of 'milady'?

The walls of the suite suddenly felt too close. She couldn’t…he couldn’t just dig into her guarded heart like that. It wasn’t his for the pursuit, and it certainly wasn’t his for the taking. He couldn't just show up and say such things. Such heartfelt dangerous words that lead to traitorous...goodness, what if she did start _thinking_  about him, too? What good could possibly come from that? And what about Walsh? Everything with him was so real these past eight months…how could she possibly…. Goodness, what did she want?

Even worse, why was it suddenly now a question?

Life was strangely good right now. For once, life had actually dealt her a reprieve, a glimpse of what happiness could be. But she should have known it wouldn’t last. Nothing good in her life ever did.

Her gaze fell to the box of folders, sighing deep as her legs itched to run. Itched to carry her far away, a survival instinct that had served her well for so many years.  

How was it possible for the arrival of one man to threaten everything in just two weeks?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian's tie creates a time crunch that is forgotten with a lapel pin.

“Emma,” Walsh’s voice came across the phone receiver, “I need Jones for makeup in ten.”

“Yes, I understand. He’s just finishing up.” She shuffled the receiver against her ear to glance at her watch. “I’ve sent Nolan and Mills ahead. Their car should be arriving in minutes.”

Walsh’s sigh sounded over the phone. “They were supposed to arrive together – one crew, one arrival. Looks better for the press.”

“Couldn’t be helped. There was a delay with Jones’ tie when his suit arrived without it.”

“Eight minutes, Emma.”

“He’ll be there. I promise.”

“Thank you. I know I can always count on you.” Obvious affection warmed his tone. “See you soon.”

The line dropped to a dial tone, and Emma hung up with a sigh. It always made her stomach flip – and not in the good way - when Walsh mixed his personal sentiments into their working relationship. She always felt slightly sullied by it but she’d never been able to put her finger on why.

She glanced back at her watch, the second-hand racing around the dial. Yes, she could knock on the door and ask his status, but he knew the stakes just like she did. And truthfully, when the schedule was discussed at this morning’s briefing, no one could imagine an issue with getting the crew together for the day’s main event. _The_ press conference to introduce the world to the official selection for the Apollo 19 prime crew.

The door opened at last, admitting Jones’ well-dressed form. The dark navy suit played perfectly off his eyes, accented by the white and navy striped tie with a red pinstripe. With his hair neatly combed and coiffed, he presented the wholesome, clean-cut image NASA expected for all of its astronauts.

“Come on,” Emma glanced back down at her watch, not bothering to ask if he was ready, “we need to go.”

“Right behind you, Swan.”

His footfalls echoed on the clack of her heels as they briskly moved through the stark hallway of the O&C Building, towards the side exit. He shuffled around to reach the door first, pushing it open for her as they stepped out into the bright sun. A car and attendant lingered by the curb, opening the backseat door for them to climb in. Blessedly, the car’s interior was cool. Hopefully that would help keep him from looking too disheveled or sweaty when they arrived.

She glanced over at him, watching him lick his top lip and glance out the window as the car pulled away. “Nervous?”

“Aye – a smidge.” He forced an attempt at a carefree smile. “It’s not everyday a press conference like this comes along.”

Her mouth tugged to a soft smile. “Only once every 19 lunar missions," she watched his face relax under her gaze, "I know you’ll do just fine. The PR team knows the ropes and how to play the game.”

“Aye, I’ve been well versed in the expected decorum for addressing the press corps. And of course, David and Robin have been more than helpful.”

"Did Captain Mills give you his patented trick for dealing with left field questions?”

“Left field?”

“Yeah, you know, like in baseball when the ball seems to come from nowhere…except that you wouldn’t…,” she trailed off, nibbling her bottom lip as awkward realization dawned. She huffed a self-deprecating sound, "and see, that’s exactly why I’m not ever going on TV.”

“Come now, Swan. You have a face made for telly.”

A flutter rippled through her as she swallowed it down. "So, what will you do when you get an unexpected question?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Wrong answer.”

He sighed, his grimace conveying all too well that he knew she was testing him. “I know the list of acceptable questions to answer versus the ones where ‘I’m not at liberty to say right now’ is the only answer.”

“Good.” The car rounded another corner and the array of communication and broadcast dishes came into view. For all the pomp and circumstance that took place here, the Communications Building itself was small and extremely forgettable.

The car pulled around to the side door where another attendant waited. He barked off quick directions to the makeup room as she and Jones exited the car, making their way into the building interior.

Only once the makeup room door closed behind him did she allow herself to breathe a sigh of relief. One minute to spare. Well, at least no one could blame her for this press conference starting off on the wrong foot. The hallway buzzed with plenty of other activity – techs walking between the stage and the booth, walkie-talkies transmitting and receiving. She couldn’t see David and Robin from where she waited in the hallway but they had probably already been ushered to the wings. Curtain time was so close, after all.

“Emma – glad you made it.” Walsh’s voice drew her attention down the hallway.

A smile grew on her face as she nodded shortly, motioning towards the makeup room. “Of course. Just like I said, even with a minute to spare.”

“I knew you would,” he stepped up close, focused adoration evident in his gaze despite the press conference frenzy around them, “Emma Swan always gets her man.”

She huffed an amused breath through pinched lips, resisting the urge to step back from him. She didn’t want to know if he was referring to himself…or Jones…but the implications either way were unsettling.

“Hey, listen, I have to run to the booth,” his eyes brightened hopefully, “but, dinner tonight?”

She quirked a brow. “We always do on nights of big PR days.”

“I know, but I just have a feeling about this one.” His words shone with restrained excitement. “Just wanted to confirm that I still had priority for your prime-time window tonight.”

“Of course…why – who else would?” She searched Walsh’s face for an answer as a treacherous voice in her mind whispered of sky-blue eyes and a velvety accent.

His smile widened with content satisfaction. “I’ll pick you up at 7:30, sharp. See you then.”

She nodded in agreement, watching him move down the hallway. Exhaling deep, she glanced back to the makeup room door just in time to see it open.

A bewildered expression marred Jones' face as he gestured at it, careful not to touch. “I don’t understand how you do it. Feels like I’m wearing a layer of grease on my face. And eyeliner, really? On national telly?”

She cocked a sideways brow. “You make it sound like you’ve worn eyeliner before.”

He shot her a look that neither confirmed nor denied it. The thought certainly intrigued her but she wouldn’t prod him about it right now. Not when he was about to go out in front of the whole world. She just wasn’t that cruel.

She stepped up to him, her smile reassuring. “Okay, number one -  I don’t wear stage-lighting grade foundation. Number two - NASA can’t have you looking like a lifeless specter up there. And eyeliner brings the emphasis - eyes are the windows for establishing a human connection with the everyday viewer, and if no one can experience that, then why are they watching at all.” Goodness, she sounded like Walsh. Only he had explained all that to her - life around cameras was his job, after all - but she had never explained it to someone else before.

His brow furrowed as he met her gaze, fond amusement softening the rest of his face. “How did you get so wise?”

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth sharpening with a smirk. “Unlike you, this isn’t my first rodeo. But you look ready to enter the ring.” She didn’t want to admit the truth about Walsh to him yet. Even though she knew she should just tell him – nip whatever this was between them in the bud – somehow, this didn’t seem like the appropriate moment.

She took in the finer points of his makeup job, finding it a bit garish in person, but it would show well for the cameras. The knot of his tie dented with a pristine dimple and the lapels of his suit jacket lay smooth against his shirt collar. Only one final touch was missing.

She reached in her cardigan pocket, pulling out a small velvet pouch. “You just need the finishing touch.” The drawstring on the bag opened and she shook out a small lapel pin. She turned it over in her palm, holding it out to him to revel the Union Jack emblazoned on the front. “Commander Nolan and Captain Mills already have their flag pins, but you needed one.”

She tried not to glance at his face - at how choked up he looked, so unexpectedly moved. It felt too wrong, too intimate, as if she intruded on a private moment. But she felt her smile widen in spite of herself as she stepped closer, cheeks flushing as she pulled the back off the pin and reached for his lapel. A hint of spicy cologne drifted in the air as she brushed the fabric, pushing the pin through and securing it in place.

“Thank you, Emma. That...means a lot to me." His hand rose between them, wrapping around the back of hers gently, holding it to his chest.

The touch of his hand shot sparks down her arm. She didn’t even know it was possible to have a handhold be so...electrifying. Suddenly, she worked to swallow against her dry throat, nodding gently. “You’re welcome. But it wasn’t my idea - you were always going to get a pin. Just...so you know.”

“I know.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lowering his back down. 

She didn’t want to acknowledge the bereft feeling in its wake. Instead, she forced herself to focus. “Alright, ace - left field warm up question,” she met his challenging gaze. “Why Hook? Your call sign. Captain Hook. Isn’t it a bit villainous?”

His face exploded with the most brilliant smile, affection sparkling in his eyes. “No, love, he’s just misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood? His whole purpose was to kill Peter Pan.”

“Only because Peter Pan fed his hand to the crocodile and, presumably, did more than that - didn’t you ever wonder what that was all about?”

“But that doesn’t explain why it’s _your_ call sign. Surely, that must have been awkward before you made captain - I mean, whoever heard of Lt. Hook?”

He chuckled low, a delicious sound. “The call sign came after the rank. Truth be told, I’ve always had an interest in pirates. A childish fantasy as a lad that I never quite grew out of.”

Something about his answer struck her. It was so oddly endearing – far more than she expected. Where she expected another glib tease, he had hit her with intimate truth. It tore at something in her heart…something that made her smile. A smile that she couldn’t contain as she drifted in the sea of his eyes, in the faint scent of his cologne, in the heat of his touch that lingered on her skin.

A door slammed open down the hall and she tore her gaze from his. She recognized the voice of the assistant producer calling out for him and ushering him towards the wings. With a glance back at her, Jones nodded silently as he turned to go.

A strong urge to call out after him seized her as she watched him go, a sudden feeling of loss welling within her.

How was he able to have such an effect on her? As much as she wanted to ignore his words from that day in her office suite, the traitorous imaginations of her mind had gnawed at her, threatening to break through her defenses. Was that why she’d been so drawn to him just now? Was that why she could still feel the phantom touch of his hand on her skin? His touch hadn’t lingered after their handshake in the hanger. Anxiety spiked in her chest to linger on the implications of why – the beginnings of a truth that she didn’t want to acknowledge.

But those were thoughts for another time. A fleeting glance to her wristwatch reminded her she only had minutes to go now. With brisk steps, she made her way to the viewing suite.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret’s warm voice filled the suite as she pushed the door open to the cozy, comfortable room. “Oh, Emma - it’s so good to see you. Thank you for sitting with me - it's no fun to be here alone.” Her hand rested against the slight swell of her stomach, but otherwise, Mary Margaret Nolan looked just as Emma remembered - kind, warm and cute as a button.

“Good to see you, too.” She returned Mary Margaret’s gentle hug, settling down in the chair next to her friend. It still baffled her that Mary Margaret had decided to take Emma under her wing, but every time the astronaut’s wife was at KSC, she always treated Emma like the dearest of friends.

Mary Margaret’s smile widened with infectious energy. “I want to hear everything that’s been going on since I was last here. It’s been so long!”

“It certainly has. But first, congratulations to you and David on your little one! I know how long you’ve wanted this.”

“Thank you! I couldn’t be more over the moon about it, and it times perfectly with this launch schedule. David shouldn’t have to miss a single milestone moment.”

It wasn’t hard to share in Mary Margaret’s joy. She had the most generous heart of any person Emma had ever known and deserved every gift that life had given her. And, boy, did she have gifts by the count.

“Now, what about you?” Mary Margaret’s nose wrinkled with enthused excitement. “Are you seeing someone now?”

Emma’s cheeks tinged as her smile took a nervous, hesitant edge.

Mary Margaret burst with a soft squeal. “Oh, I knew it! There’s just something…happy about you.”

Happy? Did Mary Margaret really think so? Was it true – was she happy? She hedged a smile. “That’s kind of you to say, thank you. I think I might be – he’s…a good guy.” She fought back invading thoughts of Captain Jones.

“Well, to win your affections, he certainly must be! Is he someone from NASA?”

She nodded. “From PR – someone you’ve probably met. Walsh Morgan.”

“Well, my goodness,” a pleased light entered her friend’s gaze, “that’s just wonderful! He is a kind man, and cute! I’m so happy for you – it’s more than time for you to start writing your own happy ending.”

Emma nodded softly, not having the heart to disparage Mary Margaret’s words. She and Walsh were nowhere near making any major decisions about their future…and with her conflicting thoughts about Captain Jones….Well, maybe all that would resolve once he launched out of here in two and a half months. At the very least, none of it had to be decided right now.

The TV screen flickered to life in front of them as the press conference started.

“It’s good to see Director Midas still looking well. I heard the state of his heart was questionable when we were last here.” Mary Margaret said quietly as they watched the staunch form of the director take to the podium on the left side of the stage. A table spread out to the right of the podium, three chairs and microphones poised for the guests of honor.

_“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” Midas’ voice rang clear with a big smile. “Thank you for joining us on this most historic afternoon as we announce final selection for the prime crew of the Apollo 19 lunar mission.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify quick, in this fic, Robin is American and his last name is Mills. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world meets Apollo 19.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to the men & women of the Apollo 11 Pre-Flight Press Conference where credit is due.

_An enthusiastic round of applause sounded as Midas tipped his head in acknowledgement, raising a hand to shuffle the cards on the podium. “The first member of the crew needs no introduction. He’s a man of outstanding moral character, a natural-born leader. A veteran of our Gemini program and Command Module Pilot during the Apollo 10 mission - and now, he will have the distinct honor of walking where so few have tread. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Apollo 19 Commander David Nolan.”_

Mary Margaret’s face exploded in blinding, radiant love as her husband took the stage. He looked every bit the all-American hero with his perfect smile, giving off a calm aura of control and grace, waving out to the excited press corps.

_Midas leaned in closer to the microphone, speaking over the dying applause. “The second member of the crew comes to us as another space veteran. I’d wager he knows more about the Lunar Module today than any other man on this base. Having been instrumental in LM development and deployment during Apollo 9, he will now be able to fly his ship where she’s always been destined to go. Ladies and gentlemen, Apollo 19 Lunar Module Pilot Robin Mills.”_

Another round of applause roared across the TV speakers as Mary Margaret laughed softly. “He looks more comfortable this time. At least, he’s remembering to wave.”

Emma felt her mouth tug up in a smile. “I do remember seeing him on TV back then - goodness, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.”

“I think he still wishes he could be anywhere else.”

Emma shook her head, amused as she watched the russet-brown haired man come to stand alongside David. The commander looked far more at ease in front of the cameras as he shook Robin’s hand before slinging a brotherly arm around his shoulders. Robin’s smile widened, seeming to relax under David’s naturally calm presence, and the flash of camera bulbs intensified. The bond between the two men was a palpable thing even through the camera lens - a camaraderie that spoke to absolute trust and faith in each other. A sense of belonging and purpose that Emma had always been envious of.

_Midas raised a hand, attempting to quiet the crowd. “For the third and final crew member - a rookie on the block who is anything but. Announced in Astronaut Group 5, he has spent the last four years training for this day - the day when he will fly among the stars and represent his country. A country that we are proud to call our close ally and friend - a fitting partner for this joint Mission of International Cooperation.”_

The crowd drew a collective gasp and Emma found herself caught up in the anticipation even though she already knew what came next.

_“Ladies and gentlemen,” Midas’ smile widened, “please welcome the man who has the singular distinction of being the first to represent the United Kingdom in outer space, Apollo 19 Command Module Pilot Killian Jones.”_

The roar from the press corps was deafening and the flash of bulbs blinding as Jones stepped out of the wings. His smile beamed, wide and bright as he offered a wave to the crowd with a gesture that betrayed no hint of nerves.

“Goodness, he’s even more handsome on TV than I remember,” Mary Margaret sighed with a shake of her head, “his baby blues just scream ladykiller. And he certainly is.”

“You know him?”

“We had him to the house several times. So polite and charming – especially with those English manners of his. So old world! But David’s told me a few stories. Seems he has quite a reputation with the ladies.”

Emma hummed noncommittally, continuing to watch as Jones rounded the table. Something about that didn’t sit right with her. There had been no public news stories or scandals that followed him to KSC – and certainly his reputation hadn’t made Florida headlines yet - or even the typing pool rumor mill which was far more vicious. It made her wonder if the reputation was just the natural progression of his flirty bachelor persona, rather than a reputation of any real merit. But somehow, she liked that thought even less.

She watched as Jones stopped alongside Robin and the slightly older man embraced him, pulling him in to stand close as the two Americans beamed with pride. As if proud to share their younger brother with the world. The flashing of bulbs intensified as the crowd roared its approval.

The three men – the three astronauts – standing arm in arm made quite the picture. Handsome, clean-cut, strong, capable, intelligent. True fairy tale princes of the modern age.

What woman wouldn’t want a man like that?

A sigh passed Emma’s lips before she realized it, startled by the sound. She could only hope Mary Margaret didn’t notice. She wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk right now.

_Midas’ heavy clapping sounded in the microphone as the crew moved for their seats and the audience quieted down._

_David reached out for the microphone in front of him, pulling it close. “Before we officially begin the Q &A, I wanted to take a brief moment to simply say – thank you. Thank you to all the viewers who support this program and believe as we believe. Thank you to my loving wife and family who have supported me since that first moment I strapped into a fighter jet. And thank you to NASA for affording me the journey of a lifetime with the best ship and best crew I could have asked for. The, uh…,” if possible his smile widened, a true look of joy washing over his face, “the English language doesn’t have adequate words to convey the immense gratitude and overwhelming honor that I feel for this. So again, I’ll simply say thank you.” _

_A loud round of applause and cheers rose from the crowd._

Emma shook her head, dumbstruck. “Wow…and just when I didn’t think the country could love him anymore.”

“I know.” Mary Margaret’s voice softened with loving pride as stared at the TV, only having eyes for David. The perfectly content smile on her face sunk a rock of jealousy in Emma’s stomach. Would she ever be able to find something so genuinely good in her life?

_Robin leaned in to his microphone, chuckling softly. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why David Nolan commands this mission.”_

_Another rich chuckle joined from Jones’ seat as he took his own microphone. “In fact, let’s just make David the mission spokesman going forward,” his cheeky smile widened, “not sure there’s much else to say, really.” He nodded down at David’s amused, embarrassed expression. “Cheers, mate.”_

_Another round of applause rose._

Mary Margaret sighed softly as Midas launched into the moderation rules for the Q&A. “Did Walsh’s team write that thank you speech for him?”

“I don’t think so,” Emma shrugged, “at least, it wasn’t in my transcript notes.”

Her friend’s hand drifted to the swell of her stomach, cradling it gently. “I know he did mean that part about the crew, but even if he hadn’t said it – you can tell how well they get along.”

“I should certainly hope so. Fourteen days cooped up in a tin can together – I’d hate to be with anyone who I couldn’t stand.”

Mary Margaret laughed softly. “That’s something I could never do. I’d miss fresh air and trees far too much. I’ll never quite understand why it’s David’s dream to go to that lifeless, dusty rock but far be it from me to stop him when it makes him so happy.”

_“Harold King, LA Times,” a voice called out from the crowd, “Commander Nolan – you served as command module pilot on your previous mission, and now you’re mission commander. Each of you has an assigned role – so my question is, how interchangeable are the roles of the crew?”_

_“To speak in general terms and be perfectly honest,” David paused, licking his lips as if debating the wisdom of his answer, “at this stage, I’d say they’re not overly interchangeable. Granted the responsibilities of my current role encompass the purview of the command module, which I trained for exclusively on my last mission – but now includes the LM which is a whole different animal. However, I think I’d have to say the biggest gap of cross-training – and the guys can correct me – is between Killian and Robin. It’s Killian’s job to get us to the moon and back, and it’s Robin’s job to get us to and from the lunar surface.”_

_“You’re spot on, David,” Robin joined in, looking first to his commander before facing the crowd. “The LM is my second home. She is my sole focus and responsibility on this mission which is only possible because of the complete trust I have in both David and Killian. Trust that they will do their jobs to make this mission a success and see us safely home.”_

_Midas pointed out to another person in the crowd for another question – a dry, technical question on LM maneuvering and trajectories that Robin launched into answering with obvious enthusiasm._

“Not bad.” Emma nodded her head in approval. “Either David’s been coaching him, or the PR team brainwashed him.”

“Life in the spotlight has its upsides as well as downsides. I’m glad Robin’s more comfortable up there – makes him so much more personable. He really is a nice man – and such a happier man since Regina came into this life.”

Emma remembered watching that transformation. A widower with a young boy who tried his best to be the model father while following his passion, Robin Mills had nearly run himself ragged with grief and the burden of responsibility when Emma met him. But one chance meeting with Regina Locksley changed everything. Where others couldn’t see past Regina’s cold and prickly demeanor, Robin had found a true, supporting companion – a woman who loved him in spite of his grief, a woman who understood grief and regret all too well. A widow with a son in her own right, and Henry and Roland became fast friends. No one in the NASA social circle was surprised when they announced their engagement and impending nuptials, embarking on their own happy ending.

It gave Emma a strange sense of hope that went against everything she knew to be true. If someone as rundown as Robin could find happiness, then maybe someday, she could, too. But given everything that had transpired in her life, she knew better than to hope for too much. It never ended well.

_Another audience member spoke. “Hector Clark, the Times. This question is for Killian Jones – first off, congratulations on such an assignment. I know you’re the envy of many young men who would love to be in your shoes right now. How have you and your family adjusted to this opportunity of a lifetime and this historic, momentous endeavor?”_

_Jones’ breathy chuckle caught on the microphone as he smiled hesitantly. “Well, when you say it all like that, it sounds impossibly grandiose and daunting. But that’s not how it is, day-to-day. It’s doing the job, solving the problem and staying safe. All three of us. And if dedicating myself to that pursuit affords me opportunities – I mean, I joined the Royal Air Force when I couldn't stomach the sea – a cruel irony for a lad who dreamed of being a pirate – and I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined that I would end up here. Me, my family – we’re absolutely gobsmacked by all of it. From the graciousness of everyone involved in my selection and training, to the unwavering support of my crew, to the outpouring of international support – it’s…this is a profound honor that I will spend the rest of my life trying to live up to.”_

_Supportive applause filled the room as his smile faltered with an embarrassed edge._

Emma couldn’t look away from the TV, heart tightening in her chest.

_David leaned forward with a mischievous smile. “It’s true, folks. His rank and call sign? He is Captain Hook, a moniker that we’ve affectionately adopted. So, you know, if you have any gold doubloons on you – consider yourself warned.”_

The pink flush that tinged Jones’ cheeks as he laughed with the rising wave of laughter from the crowd should not be so appealing. How was he so utterly captivating? Her stomach churned and her pulse raced as a thrilling little voice whispered and wondered. Could she…could she actually _trust_ him? If she handed him her heart and her past – could she trust him not to break her?

The thought terrified her, exhilarated her.

_“Amanda Bellows, BBC,” a female voice called out of the crowd, her voice accented to match Jones’, “my heartfelt congratulations on your achievements to all of you – but a special cheers to Captain Jones. You’ve made everyone back home so proud.”_

_Jones’ right hand fell over his heart, over his Union Jack lapel pin as his smile impossibly widened. “Cheers, love. After all this time around Yanks, it’s good to hear someone who sounds normal.”_

_A low chuckle rose from the crowd, including the amplified chuckle of the British female reporter. “My question is for all of you – with launch less than three months away, what provisions or protective measures have been put in place with your families for germs and illness prevention?”_

_For the briefest second, each man processed the question but no one made a move to answer. Then, Robin leaned forward, his eyes alight with a teasing edge. “Well, my wife and sons have signed a statement saying that they have no germs.”_

_Laughter bubbled up from the crowd, David and Killian’s chuckles ringing in their microphones._

Emma couldn’t help but smile. Goodness, they made a great team. There shouldn’t be any part of this broadcast that Walsh vented about later. Each crewman had a unique personal charisma that played well off the others, and surely would draw suitably large network ratings. Anything to help keep the space program in the forefront of people’s minds.

_Robin’s smile thinned to a more serious expression. “But to be perfectly honest, there are no real provisions or methods of prevention in place. We’ll go into the customary quarantine before launch, but until then, we won’t be living in a germ-free bubble.”_

_“Thank you,” Director Midas’ voice boomed as he motioned to the crowd, “we have time for one more question.”_

_“Thank you, director. John Birney, Florida Eagle Post. For all of you – as you sit here on the verge of taking the greatest trip of all trips for mankind, which place would you most like to go for vacation when you come back to Earth?”_

_David’s brow quirked with a conspiratorial edge. “I’ll defer my answer until after Hook and Robin have answered.”_

_Jones leaned forward, licking his lips in thought before looking out at the crowd. “Having honestly not thought of it until this moment – but after two weeks in the cold, dark, cramped quarters of space? I’d have to say somewhere warm, sunny and with wide open spaces.”_

_Robin nodded his head, motioning over at Jones. “Not to be unoriginal, but I have to echo Hook’s sentiments. A trip with my family to somewhere – the beach, perhaps – away from the rigors of training and command – sounds just about perfect.”_

_They both turned to look down the table at David who nodded in approval before turning out to face the crowd. “Those sound like great plans. But as for myself, when I come back to Earth,” a proud, happy light glinted in his eyes, “there will be nothing that can tear me away from my wife and my home. I am thrilled beyond measure to announce that Mary Margaret and I are expecting the arrival of our first child shortly after splashdown.” A flurry of gasps and camera flashes went off. “And that’s why Apollo 19 will be my last spaceflight.”_

Emma’s jaw dropped, along with the rest of the nation. Not only did the mission carry the prestige of the first international crewman, but now, it was the retirement flight for NASA’s golden hero? Walsh’s team couldn’t have written a better story if they tried. She turned to Mary Margaret with an incredulous look, noting the complete lack of surprise on the other woman’s face. “You’ve known all along haven’t you?”

“Of course. But it was entirely his idea. I never even suggested it.” She rubbed her belly fondly, smiling down at her child within, unable to look even the least bit remorseful. “He just doesn’t want to miss a single moment and he knows all too well how much time active spaceflight status demands. Besides,” she glanced back up at Emma, “he’ll have just returned from the surface of the moon. How could he ever hope to top that?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could dessert be so disastrous?

7:24 pm. Emma checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. The buttons on her pale pink dress were done up properly and the capped sleeves sat evenly across her shoulders. Her simple makeup didn’t look too day-worn, and the fit and flare skirt swished as she walked away from her vanity mirror.

The floorboards of the upstairs hallway of Granny Lucas’ Boarding House for Ladies squeaked as she closed the door to her room and descended the stairs. Soft polka music and applause drifted up from the living room and Emma forced a polite smile. Granny Lucas had a special affinity for ‘The Lawrence Welk Show’ and she never missed an episode. But if Emma never had to hear the man’s nasally voice croak _wunnerful, wunnerful_ again, it would be too soon.

“Well, don’t you look lovely, Miss Swan.” Granny sized her up with a shrewd gaze beneath the glasses that perched on her nose as she rocked in her chair. "That Mr. Morgan doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

“Thanks, Granny.” Emma glanced out the living room window, not yet seeing Walsh’s car at the curb. Her watch confirmed 7:27 pm.

“You know that I care about all my girls,” Granny continued, “but it’s high time that man made an honest woman out of you. Honestly, all these dates…he’s lucky that you’re so patient.”

“I’m quite happy with all these dates.”

“Well, don’t let the man pussyfoot around too long, you hear,” Granny shook her head, “you’re both too young to waste such precious time in the business of baby making. But none of that hanky-panky until a wedding, you understand me?”

Emma huffed an amused breath through a closed mouth smile. She always appreciated that Granny had everyone’s best interests at heart and knew the old lady wouldn’t hesitate to back it up with the crossbow that she kept in her kitchen pantry.

“Yes, Granny. I’ll be sure to let him know.” She checked the window again, seeing headlights pull to the curb. “Enjoy the rest of the show.”

“Enh, this lady can’t hold a tune, but he promised the Lemon Sisters later in the lineup so it should get better.” Granny smiled fondly. “Have a good evening.”

Emma nodded her farewell before opening the front door to the humid evening air. She had hoped it might cool off a little, but the spring heat was here to stay.

“You’re an absolute breezy vision on this muggy night, Emma.” Walsh opened the passenger door of his Buick, meeting her smile and brushing a kiss to her cheek.

“You look pretty good yourself, for a man who managed a press conference today.” She slid into the car with a grin, watching him come around. The headlights caught in the trim lines of his suit that were wrinkled from day-long wear. But despite the stress of putting on the press conference and dealing with the wave of public response, his tie was still straight and the bright smile never faltered from his face.

He chatted animatedly the whole way with such infectious enthusiasm. The feedback from the networks astounded him, and he was utterly flabbergasted. His whole team still pinched themselves, trying to believe it had been real.

Emma enjoyed watching him in this mood. The passion for his job showed so plainly in his wide eyes and giddy smile. Almost like what she always assumed a happy kid looked like on Christmas morning. It made it easy for her to push all uncertainty with Captain Jones aside and just be present with Walsh.

She recognized the restaurant immediately on arrival – a favorite and the spot of their first date. That fateful lunch where he craftily cornered her into accepting his invitation with no way out. Eight months later, she couldn’t exactly hold it against him for outmaneuvering her.

“I’m still just in shock.” Walsh wiped his mouth with his napkin, shaking his head. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to top this mission. I mean, Jones’ nationality alone was headline news, but David letting the cat out about a baby and retirement….”

Emma laughed softly against the rim of her wine glass. “And just when I thought that the country couldn’t love him anymore than they already do, he found a way.”

“Boy, did he ever.” He looked up to her with a warm, caring smile. “It’s just been the best day.”

“I’m happy that you’re so pleased.”

“You should be, too, you know,” he leaned forward, his eyes earnest, “you do so much. More than anyone realizes. And I don’t think you get your fair share of the thanks often enough. So thank you, Emma. I know that you did a lot to make today successful.”

She scoffed softly, brushing off his compliment. “I didn’t do that much...mainly just dragged Jones from the O&C to the makeup chair.”

He finished the last bite, setting his knife and fork down. “But that’s exactly what I’m talking about! It’s the little things - all those little things - that no one thanks you for are _exactly_ why they should appreciate you more.”

She looked to her plate, spearing the last bite while fighting back an embarrassed smile. “Well, it’s...it’s just my job.”

“No, it’s far more than that. It’s who you are,” he paused, smiling with affectionate pride, “you’re Emma Swan and like I said - she always gets her man.”

A huffed breath of uncertainty passed her lips. His words made her gut churn despite her full stomach. “Let’s not get too carried away.”

“Why not? It’s a night of celebration, after all! And you should give yourself more credit - get carried away, brag about yourself. Better yet, let me brag about you, show you off. You do far more than the poor, unfortunate girl who was your predecessor ever did, so let me be proud of you.”

She quirked an intrigued brow. “Poor, unfortunate girl?” She drew a breath to ask another question, stopping short as the waiter interrupted to take their empty plates. With the table cleared, she leveled her gaze back to Walsh. “Did something happen to her?”

A hesitant looked crossed his face. “You mean you don’t know? I guess I just assumed that the typing pool gossip circle told you, since you’ve worked here longer than I have.”

Emma shook her head, shrugging an uncertain shoulder.

“Well, she, uh…,” Walsh licked his lips, a nervous tell as a red flush spread to his ears, “she got herself in the family way...by a man married to someone else.”

Emma started, jostling the wine in her glass. “My goodness. Was...did he work at NASA?”

Walsh nodded, lips pressed to a tight line. “Launch Control.”

“No.” Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open to a soft ‘o’. “Well, you’d think a man who works in Launch Control would know how to better control his own...launch.” She met Walsh’s soft, bashful laugh, cheeks tinged by the taboo conversation topic.

He shook his head, blinking wide. “Well, apparently not...as it would seem.”

“Well, goodness,” she took another sip of her wine, “fortunately, you don’t have to worry about anything like _that_.”

His gaze sharpened with a reassuring edge. “The thought never even crossed my mind. You...you just seem so…,” he sighed, licking his lips in a strangely nervous gesture, “are you happy?”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the question. “With...with the food? Yes. And we - we are happy.”

The air at the table had taken a suddenly strange turn, especially as she glanced up to see the waiter approaching with a dish in hand. She stared quizzically at the plate that bore a small bowl of what looked like ice cream as it was placed in the middle of the table.

Her gaze darted back up to him. “We...we didn’t order dessert, did we?”

“No, we didn’t.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows against the table. “But do you remember our first date here?”

“Of course,” her smile brightened with warm fondness, “I think about it every time we come here. How you invited me for lunch -”

“Except all you wanted was an ice cream sundae, which they didn’t have on the menu but the chef made on request?”

She laughed softly. “Yes, I remember it perfectly. And this - this is a sweet gesture, but really, I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Oh, come on. Just one bite?”

“No, Walsh, please - I’m really full.”

He exhaled a quick breath, reaching for the plate. “Then, will you at least look at it?” He spun the dish against the tabletop and her heart stopped.

A small diamond ring glinted up from the white ceramic. She couldn’t stop staring at it, struggling to breathe, to process that this was actually happening.

“Emma, I-I just couldn’t wait any longer,” his face brightened with obvious excitement and hope, “I love what we have together, and I love the idea of our future together - I know we could make each other so happy.” He reached for the ring, holding it out to her. “Emma Swan, will you marry me?”

She gasped, feeling a well of panic burst within her. God, what was she supposed to say? The night was going so well. Why did he have to ruin it with something this big? Something so...defining? She reached for her wine glass, taking a big gulp and watching his face fall.

“Emma, please…?”

“Sorry, this wasn’t...you just took me by surprise is all.” Her words were breathy and rushed as she still struggled to fully understand that he had actually just _proposed_ to her. Hadn’t that been what she always wanted? To find a place in the world where she was wanted and belonged?

He smiled sadly, shaking his head in self-scolding. “Surprise was part of the plan, but I can see now that it was a bad plan. A horrible plan.”

She licked her lips, searching for something to say. “I mean...doesn’t this all seem really fast? It feels so fast.”

“I’ve known this was right since the moment we met,” his voice was so painfully sincere, “when you showed up in my press office and demanded the interview schedule? I hounded my secretary to finish the type job because I couldn’t wait to ask you out!”

She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes, dropping down to stare at the tablecloth and the melting ice cream. “I’m...I’m just not good at...fast.”

He reached across the tablecloth, wrapping a comforting hand around her arm. “We can wait a year or two. But I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter what happens.” He squeezed gently. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

She worked to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “Okay, I...I’ll think about it.”

His eyes widened. “You’ll think about...a wedding date?”

“No,” she breathed an uncertain sound, “think about accepting your proposal.”

A sad light dimmed his face but his expression lost none of its tender love. “Of course, Emma. Please take the time you need.” He looked down to the melting dish of ice cream with a forced smile. “But in the meantime, what’s say we finish this ice cream before it completely melts?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One sandwich and two letters make for a hell of a Friday.

“I tell you, I’m just not sure that Jean is working out.” Zelena exhaled a frustrated sigh, gesturing over her lunch tray. “She came with high commendations from her school, so how, _how_ could she struggle with organizing her Rolodex and replacing her typewriter ink?”

Ruby quirked a brow. “How long has she been here? One week? Maybe two?”

Zelena rolled her eyes, reaching for her fork. “Seven business days.”

“Well, goodness,” Ruby shook her head, reaching for her milk, “maybe cut the girl a little slack. I know I wasn’t tops at my job within the first two weeks. The professional world is a big adjustment from school.”

The redhead shot the brunette a sharp look. “That may be how _you_ run the East Pool, but _I_ have more exacting standards for the West Typing Pool.”

Emma took another bite of her sandwich. She knew exactly how fastidiously Zelena ran her typing pool. The woman was a hallmark of cold efficiency, but, unfortunately, she was a wicked gossip. And she made no secret about it.

Zelena cut into her cafeteria meatloaf as she continued. “I mean, everyone knows what level of workmanship to expect out of my pool, and I will not have some little out-of-school girl ruin that reputation. Especially not with such a high profile mission preparing to launch.”

Ruby hummed softly. “And there have been nice evaluations coming in for the archives.”

Emma raised a shocked eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been looking at records that you shouldn’t.”

Ruby leaned in close over the remains of her lunch with a mischievous smile. “Well, I had to find _some_ way of telling which files should be archived where. And let me tell you, ladies,” she giggled with a salacious edge, “our British bachelor is a hallmark of strength, stamina. Virility. Mmm, what more could you ask for?”

“Oh, please, Ruby,” Emma scoffed, frowning down at her own tray, “we’re eating.”

Zelena laughed with appreciation. “And nothing about what Ruby said sounds unappetizing,” she smiled around her fork, pausing to chew the bite, “in fact, I’m keeping my eye on the medical corridor. Just need the right moment to feign an important memo so I can burst in during an EKG eval.”

Ruby laughed, shaking her head. “Shameless. Absolutely shameless. Surely, there are easier ways to see him shirtless?”

“Not without a more personal invitation,” Zelena shook her head, “but it’s curious – for all his _generous_ words, I haven’t heard of one lady he’s entertained since arriving here.”

Was that really the case? Or perhaps, he was just playing it discrete. Media attention had reached a fever-pitch after the press conference and every news outlet clambered for shots of the astronauts to share with rabid viewers. Maybe he didn’t want to splay casual dalliances all over the front pages – or perhaps he was under a mandate not to casually entertain until after the mission.

Ruby finished the last of her milk. “He seems like a gentleman, despite his flirty demeanor. He probably just doesn’t want to subject some poor girl – or several of them – to the media scrutiny. I mean, could you imagine!”

Zelena hummed deliciously. “I’d gladly take the media speculation if it meant getting to have him all to myself in the in-between times. He’s just gorgeous – his eyes could hold me for hours.” She waved her knife idly around. “And if I do find out someone in my pool has been secretly entertaining him, then there will be words. That is not the reputation I want associated with the West Pool. We may be career-girls, but we are, first and foremost, ladies.”

Emma scoffed, not wanting to open the box of Zelena’s hypocrisy against her ladies chasing Jones while she schemed to have Jones all for herself. “You know, how about we talk about something _other_ than Captain Jones?”

Zelena turned a sharp eye on Emma “Well, excuse those of us single ladies for trying to better our prospects. Not all of us can be so fortunate to see the assistant PR manager.”

Emma’s lips quirked with a hesitant smile, a wave of nausea rolling through her. “That wasn’t quite what I meant-”

“What’s it been now, hmm? Eight months of your relationship bliss?” Zelena spat the last word with bitterness.

A spike of anxiety lanced through Emma. She wanted to tell Zelena that it wasn’t all roses. That Walsh had proposed and she didn’t know how she could say yes. The thought terrified her. Once she said yes, she couldn’t leave, she couldn’t run. She’d be trapped…and surely, the fact that _that_ word sprang to mind should be a sign.

Things with him had been going so well and four little words ruined it all. _Will you marry me?_

She steadfastly didn’t hear Jones’ words in the back of her mind. She refused. _It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me._

“Alright, Zelena,” Ruby intervened, rolling her eyes with annoyance, “leave Emma alone. She wasn’t bragging about her relationship with Walsh. Come on, she’s never done that. But I, on the other hand, have no such reservations! Victor is finally taking me out on Friday night!”

“Victor?” Zelena’s eyes widened. “The flight surgeon?” She scoffed with derision at Ruby’s blinding enthusiasm. “Of course, you would manage to snag a doctor. No man can resist those doe eyes of yours.”

“A well-fitted skirt helps, too,” Ruby admitted, “but he was sitting at that table over there, looking so very alone. So, I sat right down and helped distract him.”

“Ugh,” Zelena shook her head, “I can almost see the wedding invitations now. Actually, no - I’m going to echo what Emma said - we’re eating, so you can stop making me want to lose my lunch.”

* * *

Killian took a deep breath as he exited the Command Service Module - CSM - simulator. His hand tugged at the zipper of his training coveralls, enjoying the rush of cool air over his heated skin. Not that he was claustrophobic by any means, but it was always refreshing to breathe air that didn’t feel quite so stale.

He kept replaying that last vector adjustment in his mind. The LM had been coming in just a touch too high and a smidge too slow, and the space between two breaths before he’d fully realized it had eaten into more margin than he was comfortable with. He’d freely admit to the split-second of sweating as he engaged the CSM thrusters to compensate his own vector and velocity for rendezvous. But if he’d delayed any further, there would have been too much distance between him and the LM. Eating into the fuel reserve to achieve successful docking was a conversation no one wanted to have.

He glanced over as David and Robin finished descending from the LM simulator. A fine sheen of sweat decorated Robin’s brow but he looked otherwise composed. If David was concerned at the simulation run, nothing showed on his face. But that’s just how the man was – a consummate leader who didn’t let his emotions get the better of him.

In truth, the simulation had been a success. It had fallen well within the acceptable guidelines for the stated metrics. The engineers and techs overseeing and supporting the simulation had even sent their congratulations across the headsets as the simulation ended.

But Killian knew from the set of David’s jaw and the furrowed line on Robin’s forehead that it wasn’t enough. He arched a brow as his crewmates approached. “Cutting it a little close there, mate?” 

Robin shook his head, annoyance pinching his mouth. “The thruster command relay had a contact delay. Shortened our burn by half a second.”

“And I didn’t anticipate what that would do to your position quick enough.” Yes, Killian had been well educated on average synapse response times of the human brain and the microseconds of unrecoverable lost time from associated feedback loops, but he hadn’t fully anticipated it during the simulation. He needed to run the vector math quicker.

David looked between his crew. “I’ll come out and say it – we got lucky. Yes, we may have been within the acceptable operating margins, but syncing our precise orbital velocities and position vectors is something we do in our sleep. We attack it like that, then if we hit an unrecoverable curve ball, we can have those discussions on fuel reserves.” His face warmed with an encouraging smile. “It’s been over two months since we last had a flub in a simulator – and frankly speaking, I’d be more worried if we did just breeze through these last sims.”

Killian shook his head with a teasing smirk. “You Yanks and your baseball sayings…I’ll never understand.”

“Careful, limey.” Robin’s face brightened in a playful smirk to match. “That’s our national heritage, now.”

“National heritage with firm roots in the English sport of Cricket. A popular pastime right around the time you upstarts started to rebel.”

Robin chuckled softly. “And look where it got us today.”

“No complaints here, mate.”

David shook his head with a quiet laugh. “I’ll watch my mouth next time if I know it’ll set you two off. We’ll have four days from here to the moon to wax poetic on history, but for now, let’s reset. It’s Friday afternoon but the weekend doesn’t start until we nail those velocities and vectors without breaking a sweat.”

Killian nodded along with Robin. It made the most sense – if he could get it right this time, then he wouldn’t spend the whole weekend replaying it in his mind, calculating how he could have done it differently. Better to just put his calculations into action.

David nodded over at the sim techs. “Hey – reset the simulation, please. We’re going to run it again. None of us were happy with that last performance.”

The lead tech spoke back, voicing dissent, and David looked between his crewmates. “Take 10, guys – water and a break. Then, we’ll go again.” He stepped over to the sim console, lowering his voice for a conversation with the lead teach.

Killian craned his neck, hearing the audible pop and feeling the satisfying pull on the stiff muscle. A bottle of water did indeed sound like a good idea. He stepped down off the sim platform, rolling a shoulder as he reached for his water bottle. The cool slide down his throat brought a nice relief as he scanned the windows that overlooked the hallway, noting the hustle of various people. He couldn’t deny that he hoped to catch a glance of Emma. Seeing her always brightened his day, so fortunately, he did get to see her several times throughout any given day.

Initially, of course, her beauty struck him. And that was soon matched not only with her smarts that she was careful to show, but also with her sharp tongue that she wasn’t always careful to hide. But what really stuck with him was the underlying sense of loss about her – at the look in her eyes that more than suggested she couldn’t trust anyone That no matter his intentions, there would always be suspicion, hesitation.

Maybe that’s what made the afternoon in her office suite so satisfying. He’d caught a glimpse of the lady within the tower – the one who feared to love probably as much as he thought himself incapable of it. She had noticeably relaxed around him since that day, talking more freely. But with each passing day, he struggled to deny the truth of it. Struggled to not recognize it for what it was.

Emma had been right – he knew what wounds from love gone wrong looked like, and along with that, he knew what falling in love felt like. An anxious form of delicious and wonderful torment that he never thought he’d be capable of again. Yet, here he was – completely smitten and swept up in Emma’s gravitational pull, heading full speed into something far more profound.

He didn’t think it was possible.

He looked up from his water as movement caught in his peripheral vision.

“Mail for you, captain.” The staff member smiled politely over thick glasses as he held out a small stack of two envelopes.

Killian nodded as he took the envelopes with his free hand before taking another long drink.

The postmark on the first envelope made him do a double take. How long had it been since he’d heard from Elsa? And…how in the world did she manage to get a letter through to him? Was it really so easy to send a supposed international hero a letter?

He tore into it, pouring over the neat, fine script.

_Killian,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know we haven’t spoken much in the years since Liam’s passing, but I saw your press conference and had to write._

_I hope you know how proud he would be of you. He was always so proud of his_ _~~little~~ _ _younger brother, and wanted so much for you. It makes me regret that I let my grief over Liam cause us to lose touch all these years. Especially now that Lily and Liam, Jr. are so much older._

_Despite having not seen them since they were infants, I think you’d recognize the twins easily. They look so much like their father that it breaks my heart more than I want to admit. But they are both excelling at school – Lily has found a calling at the piano, and Liam, Jr. is a natural at rugby. They both seem to have inherited that unique Jones-ian spirit for adventure and I dread surviving their teenage years. I’m already in enough hot water for not having told them of their Uncle Killian until he suddenly appeared on international telly and I dropped a pot roast casserole on the kitchen floor._

_Needless to say, they are bursting to meet you. And I would very much enjoy seeing you, too. I can’t undo the years of pushing you out of our lives but I would like to start trying to make it up to you. I hope you’ll let me know when you’re back in London and we’ll make arrangements._

_Best of luck to you and your crew on your journey to the moon! It must be so exciting for you and I know you’ll make the UK proud! We look forward to hearing tales of your grand adventure when you get back to Earth._

_Take care,_ _  
_ _Elsa_

The letter bowled him over. In the intervening years since Liam’s death, he didn’t like to think about his sister-in-law and her kids. She and Liam had wed young, and his tragic passing had completely upended her life, leaving her alone with twin infants. Killian had tried to support her as best he could, but bloody hell, he’d been even younger and didn’t understand the first thing about grief or taking care of babies. But, god, how he wanted to be there when Liam couldn’t, and all Elsa had done was shut him out. No phone calls, no letters, no photographs. In the wake of such silence, it had almost become easier to pretend that she didn’t exist. That he didn’t have a niece and nephew. But now…now that he held this letter?

He blew a sigh, hoping to release the surprisingly anxious bubble that filled his chest. Of course, the timing was convenient. Now that he was an international name, she wanted a reconciliation. But he could just as easily picture her face, white with shock, as she stared at the telly over the ruined remains of casserole on the kitchen floor. Of course, the kids would hound her endlessly until she confessed the true cause of her utter astonishment. A smile teased his lips as he wished he could have been there for that moment.

He skimmed over the letter again, a warm spark igniting in his heart. Perhaps he would have to go for a visit once he got back to London.

He folded the letter along its neat crease lines and looked down at the second envelope in his hand.

His blood froze.

The envelope front only had ‘Capt. Jones’ scrawled in a familiar, elegant script with no address or postage stamp. A gold, wax seal rested over the envelope flap, sealing up the message within. Killian forced a hard swallow, heart pounding as he stared down at the offending envelope.

What could Gold possibly want with him now? And how did Gold manage to slip this in with the rest of his postmarked mail? The thought of Gold having people within NASA made his stomach sour.

Exhaling deep to control the tremor that threatened his hand, he pulled at the wax seal, opening the flap and sliding out the card stock within. More of the familiar handwriting stared up at him.

_My Dear Captain –_

_Imagine my complete surprise to see you in the newsreels. I suppose congratulations are in order. So, why not meet up for a celebration? You’ll find the location marked on the enclosed map. Remember, X always marks the spot! Tonight at 9 pm. For the sake of your rising star – and those two, adorable twins – I strongly advise against standing me up. You know how I abhor wasting my time._

_-Mr. G_

Killian’s grip tightened, jaw muscles tensing as he re-read the presumptuous note, hearing the man’s smarmy, weaselly voice in every word. The card and map clipping felt like bricks as he continued to stare down at them.

Threatening his career was one thing, but threatening his niece and nephew? Gold had never preyed on children before. Was it just a big bluff? Or had something else happened? Either way, could he really take that risk?

“Hey, Hook?...Killian?”

He shook from his thoughts, instinctively clutching the card close against prying eyes, especially as he looked up to meet David’s observant gaze.

“Hey,” David started softly again, concern seeping into his words, “you alight? Did…did you get bad news?”

Killian did his best to summon a breezy smile, trying to push the distracted thoughts from his mind. “No - I’m alright. No bad news. Just…unexpected.”

David nodded slowly, dubious. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me…especially if it will cause a distraction.”

Killian looked to him with firm conviction. “It won’t be a distraction. You have my word. Let me just…take a trip down the hall to clear my head. Then, we can go nail that angle and move on for our well-deserved weekend.”

A reluctant smile quirked David’s mouth. “Alright. Go take a breather. But I expect your best when you come back.”

It was all too easy to flash his trademark grin. “You’ll never get anything less.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pirate looks like himself and all that glitters is not…well, you know.

Fortunately, the simulation run soothed him. Going through the familiar motions, falling into sync with his crew, working together towards common goals – it had been more than enough to put the distressing note out of his mind.

Until there was nothing else to occupy his thoughts.

When he arrived to his temporary home, he didn’t know how he would pass the two hours until the meeting time. He forced himself to eat something and only allowed one beer as the television set droned mindlessly on. He couldn’t even say what program was on – or how many he’d sat through – when he finally roused himself at 8:25 pm.

After catching a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror – still in his dress shirt and suit slacks – he looked far too…wholesome for this meeting with Gold. Turning for his trunk, he rifled through the contents to the very bottom, pulling out the black leather jacket.

He paired it with black jeans and a navy button-down shirt. Running a wet hand through his hair, he mussed the clean-cut locks with careless abandon. He added the long-absent silver and black stud earring that he clamped to his right lobe, and a heavy layer of eyeliner.

Gold would surely recognize him better dressed like this, and maybe it would afford him some anonymity. Glancing in the mirror, he instantly felt fifteen years younger – reminded of those dark, wild days when he lived in endless booze, seedy gambling and lowlights of the punk rock scene, trying anything to drown out the endless heartache.

With a flip of the bathroom light switch, he slipped the finishing touch – a silver chain with skull and knife pendants – over his head and reached for his flask. He was surely going to need it.

He didn’t dare take his car. Slouching and slumming his way through the bus stops proved far easier, and no one gave him a second glance. At least, not as the international astronaut hero. But he received plenty of disapproving scowls for his degenerate, unseemly attire. Fortunately, the judgemental glares didn’t bother him. In fact, he deserved them. There was a lot more truth to this Killian Jones than the clean-cut sod in the headlines.

With a glance down at the map, he confirmed the intersection before starting off down the dimly lit street. The sounds of surf breaking against the shore filled the air, coupled with the brackish breeze as he left the sidewalk behind and started down the boardwalk. Food and drink stalls lined the edges, with picnic tables and folded umbrella stands scattered in between. He had no doubt during the day this boardwalk buzzed with life and people enjoying a day at the beach. But tonight, it was closed-up and shrouded in shadows – the perfect place for Mr. Gold to conduct business.

Seeing no trace of the hideous man yet, Killian dropped to sit on a picnic table bench. He sighed deep as he waited, listening to the waves roll in and resisting the urge to reach for his flask. He’d done well staying away from the rum in recent years, but he knew better than to push his luck just yet. It was the weekend, after all. He wouldn’t be back under the microscope until Monday morning and he had all weekend to cure any ill effects that might linger.

“Good evening, captain.” The familiar, slimy voice was straight from his nightmares.

He glanced up to see the all-black, suit-clad figure of Mr. Gold strolling towards him. The man hadn’t appeared to age a day – the coldness in his eyes burned ever bright, and the distant street light caught the silver sheen of his long hair. Killian glowered up at him, resentment plain on his face.

Gold chuckled softly as his eyes roamed over Killian’s appearance. “Well, well…just look at you. You know – seeing you like this – I think I know you better than you know yourself, dearie.” Light caught the gold tooth in the man’s crocodile smile. “I mean, there’s a difference between who you want to be…and who you are. Is it the respectable astronaut hero from the telly? Or the miscreant tearaway on his latest bender, mourning his lost love.”

“Lost…,” Killian sneered, “spoken like you don’t bloody well know how it happened.”

A pensive look descended over Gold’s face. “She made her choice.”

“And so did you when you killed her right in front of me.”

“She lied to me. You both did." Venom dripped off each word. “You both had to be punished. You both had to know how it felt to have your love _ripped_ from your life. Though, granted, you’ve suffered with the pain of loss longer than she did.” A shrewd light sparked in his gaze as he stared down at Killian. “But that makes us the same. You and me, you see?”

“We are nothing alike, you vicious crocodile.” Killian’s fist balled at his side as he seethed with quiet rage. “She left you of her own free will – she told you as much! You exacted your vengeance on us both years ago, and I’ve lived with it – _just_ like you wanted. Ok? We’re done. I don’t owe you _anything._ ”

Gold stepped closer, words gritted through clenched teeth. “You stole my love, ruined my life – and for that, you owe me for as long as you live.”

Kilian shook his head, defiant. “You can no longer control me.”

“No?” The crocodile’s suddenly gentle tone sent a chilling wave down Killian’s spine. “Then, why are you here? Surely not to make some dribbling, desperate plea for your career?”

“I don’t give a damn about my career. God knows I don’t deserve even half of what life has given me. Especially not those kids, who have done nothing against you.”

Gold reached into his suit jacket, withdrawing a photograph. He tossed it down to the tabletop and Killian’s heart broke to see the two smiling faces staring back him. He couldn’t believe how much they’d grown. They both looked so much like Liam that it hurt.

“How long has it been since Uncle Killian last saw the twins, hmm? Not since they were infants, I gather.” Gold clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “I understand Elsa’s explained to them that the-suddenly-famous British astronaut is in fact their wayward uncle, despite the fact that he’s never once come round.”

“You leave them alone."

Gold’s smile was pure sinister pleasure. “Then it seems I can control you, after all.”

Killian’s eyes slammed shut in frustration, anger swelling. “Not if I go to the authorities. Tell them everything.”

A sinister cackle floated on the breeze. “You’re welcome to try, of course. Others have. And yes, I’ve walked before, and I’ll walk again. But I wonder if we’ll be able to say the same for you - the alcoholic, accessory-to-murder homewrecker - and those two sweet, so-full-life children?”

His fist clenched harder, stomach sick with self-loathing. “What do you want?”

“And now we come to it! We could’ve saved so much time if you’d just lead off with that question.” Another gleeful chortle brightened Gold’s face. “What I want…is something only you can get me.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Killian shot him a look from under his dark brows, “you managed to slip an unmarked letter into my official post, so I know you have your people on the inside.”

“But you don’t know who. And why should I pay them to do something that I know you can do for free?”

Killian stared back, refusing to repeat the question. Gold had always been a sick bastard, enjoying the thrill of torturing his prey before the kill.

Gold just stared back with an expectant look of his own, looking far too pleased with himself as he shook his head. “This stubbornness, captain. It’s admirable, to be sure, but ultimately pointless. And frankly annoying.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips with a serpentine movement. “You’re going to bring me David Nolan’s medical and blood work evaluation in two weeks.”

Killian’s eyes widened, incensed. “Like hell I am.”

“It’s not up for debate.”

“If you have other people at NASA, make them do it. I want no part of it – I can’t…can’t betray him like that.”

“Such misplaced loyalty. Oh,” Gold cooed mockingly, “found a replacement big brother, have we?”

“Liam has nothing to do with this!”

“Doesn’t he just? It is his children, after all, that you’re so valiantly failing to protect.”

Killian fumed, reigning in every instinct to leap across the table and wring Gold’s neck. How satisfying it would be to see the light finally go out of those cruel eyes. How _glorious_ freedom from his ever-looming shadow would feel.

Gold braced a hand against the table, leaning down with a conspiratorial smirk, his gaze sharp and cutting. “ _There_ he is – the ruthless pirate who will stop at nothing to get what he wants,” his lip curled with a sadistic edge, “you can play hero on TV all you like, dearie, but that darkness will always lie within.”

“No!” Killian’s eyes blazed. “That’s not – I’m not that man anymore.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? Not a day seems to have passed….” Gold leaned back, triumphant in his victory. “David Nolan’s medical eval, in two weeks, captain. Tick tock.”

Killian forced a breath, bile in his throat, knowing what he had to say. “You’ll have it.”

“I should hate to think what will happen if I don’t.” The man chuckled with gut-wrenching satisfaction. “Here we are, captain, still in business together.” He walked back around the table, swiping up the photograph and returning it to his jacket pocket as he started back down the boardwalk, his voice drifting on the breeze. “I think you and I are going to have some fun.”

A frustrated, enraged growl seized Killian’s throat as he slammed a hand against the picnic tabletop. How was he _still_ not rid of Gold in his life? How had it come to this? How had he possibly agreed to betray David like that?

How the bloody hell could he actually go through with it?

The smiling faces of his niece and nephew burned in the forefront of his mind. How could he possibly hope to keep them safe either way?

He didn’t hesitate to reach for his flask, pulling out the stopper and gulping until he couldn’t breathe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning run is unexpectedly cut short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to readers and those who left kudos! It's encouraging to know that I'm not posting into the void. :) 
> 
> I've also been watching _Black Sails _and I'm ravenous for a dirty, gritty Hook of that universe, a love-wounded man with waxed leathers, kohl-rimmed eyes and rakishly tarred hair whose authority is unquestionable; who lives for the thrill of what he can plunder, the revenge he can exact on his enemies, and the pleasure he can indulge with his bedmates. Mmm...but I digress.__

Emma couldn’t really remember who – if anyone – introduced her to running. Seemed like she was always just chasing after cruel foster kids or running away from a state house, but either way, the habit stuck.

Sort of.

It wasn’t one she indulged frequently, but her job was mostly to blame. Not to mention the social stigma that came with a woman not wearing makeup and having her hair perfect for public appearance. But at this early hour on a Saturday morning, Emma didn’t let it stop her.

Her tennis shoes clipped along the sidewalk that lead down towards the waterfront. Granny Lucas’ neighborhood block was too small to offer her any real sense of freedom, so whenever she did feel the urge to run, she always drove out towards the shore. Something about the open expanse of water, the rolling waves, and the circling gulls reminded her that staying here was her choice. That she wasn’t trapped in another situation she couldn’t escape. At least, not yet. That if she wanted, she could pack her bags and restart somewhere else.

She took a deep breath of the fresh air, turning to jog down the deserted boardwalk. The stalls here didn’t open until later in the morning, and without anyone around, it was always a little thrilling to dart and weave around the picnic tables. Imagining that she chased someone – like the cop shows on TV, and she was hot in pursuit. A smile teased her face as she rounded a table and zoomed around the next.

That’s when she spotted the darkly dressed figure reclined against a table bench. Her breath caught as she stopped, staring down at the person…at the man as he…appeared to be asleep.

Her face pinched with curiosity. In all her time of running here, she’d never seen someone sleeping on a bench before. It was far too exposed, even for the town’s homeless population. She stepped closer, staring down at the man, noting something distinctly familiar about him. “Oh…my god.” Her mouth fell agape, stunned as realization slammed into her.

It was Captain Jones...Killian. But goodness. He was dressed as she’d never expected to see him with the leather jacket, black jeans, and…was that an earring? He lay on his back, head turned into his left side with his left leg draped on the bench and the other extended down to the boardwalk. His leather jacket rested over his chest like a blanket, hiding his right arm while his left rested atop, wrapped around his torso. A flask lay on its side against the tabletop, the stopper thrown aside.

Had he spent the whole night here? She reached to the table for the flask, pulling it back with a cursory sniff. Her nose wrinkled at the potent, sweet and spicy smell. Rum, maybe? She glanced down at him, unable to believe it. Goodness, she had to get him out of here.

“Captain...?” She pursed her lips, face pinching with frustration as she tried again louder. When he gave no response, she reached down to gently tap his shoulder. “Wake up, captain.”

His eyes blearily cracked open, a look of confusion registering before he seemed to remember where he was. He turned his head with a grimace, his face scrunching with annoyance to meet her gaze. “Swan…?” The word was more of a croak, his voice dry and rough with sleep. “What…what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

She fought back an annoyed roll of her eyes, more concerned than anything. “I could ask the same of you. Were you here all night?”

His eyes closed, drawing a deep breath as he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What of it?”

“What of it?” Frustration blazed in her gaze. “You could have been recognized. Or, worse, arrested for loitering.”

“No one saw me.” He arched his back against the bench, shifting stiff muscles to sit up with a groan. A pained scowl marred his face as he adjusted to the vertical position, squinting around in the cloudy morning light.

Goodness, he looked so different. The mussed hair and thick eyeliner lent a dark danger to his countenance that no press photo ever suggested. His unbuttoned shirt revealed far more skin and hair than was seemly, and the jewelry – the earring, the pendants…what in blazes had he been up to last night? Any why did he have to look so damnably  _attractive_?

She waggled the empty flask. “Must have been some party last night.”

He glowered up at her under his dark lids. “And aren’t you just a riot this morning.”

She reached around him for the flask stopper, mouth pinching with annoyance. “Only when I find an astronaut sleeping one off on a boardwalk picnic table.” She took a quick glance around, looking for any roving eyes. “Come on, we need to get you out of here. It’s a miracle you haven’t made the front page already.”

With another groan, he rose to his feet, slinging his jacket around his shoulders. “If anyone had seen me, do you really think anyone would recognize me? Believe it or not, I can pull of a convincing Irish brogue. Works every time.”

Ordinarily, she would have expected those words to be laced with some manner of bravado or innuendo, but today, they struck her as tired and infinitely sad. It could probably be chalked up to the hangover, but something in the slumped set of his shoulders told her it ran deeper than that. He looked desperately like a man who shouldn’t be alone – and no wonder. If he’d drank a flask of rum and passed out here, then something was certainly not right.

“Come on,” she said softly, stuffing the stopper back on his flask, “I’ll take you home.”

“No need, love. I can get home the same way I got here.”

“And that’s how exactly?”

“Why the bus, of course. Or walking.” He shot her a knowing look as they started down the boardwalk, back towards the street. “I wasn’t foolish enough to take my own car.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” her mouth quirked with an edge of sympathy as she glanced back over at him. “But I am taking you home – can’t let Captain Jones take the bus home looking like he’s been hit by a train.”

He winced, sighing in disgust. “Don’t…don’t call me ‘Captain Jones’. It’s Killian. Not…not the moniker of that heroic fool.”

Concern hardened her face as she looked back at him, her initial worries suddenly confirmed. “Hey,” she said softly, drawing him to a stop, “what happened last night? This…this doesn’t sound like you.”

“And what do you really know about me?”

She felt herself wanting to recoil, wanting to leave him to wallow in whatever dark hole he’d fallen into. But that just wasn’t her way. “Enough to know that you’re just as good as any other man in the program. Sure, yes, you’ve been…the king of flirtatious bravado since your feet hit the tarmac. But underneath that? Where it really counted? It’s like you said…you’re a gentleman and all that entails – kind, honorable…respectful….” She could feel a faint blush rise in her cheeks to admit all that. Hopefully he didn’t interpret it the wrong way, especially since he didn't know about her and Walsh.

If anything, he looked more pained at her words. Guilt hung heavy in his bloodshot eyes as his mouth drew to a tight line. A faint dusting of dark stubble decorated his jaw, lending to his haggard look. “You…you shouldn’t waste your words on me right now, or listen to me, really. Not until this hangover is sorted, anyway.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She certainly didn’t believe him, but continuing the conversation here wasn’t good.

The rest of the walk back to her car proceeded in silence, as did the drive. In fact, when she pulled up to his little NASA-owned, temporary house, she wasn’t entirely surprised to find him lightly dozing in the passenger seat.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key, opening the door to the familiar, spartan furnishings that came standard with the house. She’d been to David and Mary Margaret’s temporary homes many times, and they always managed to infuse the sterile space with warmth and life. Glancing around at Jones' – Killian’s – place, she couldn’t find one shred of a personal touch. Not a photograph or knickknack. Sure, a gray blanket lingered on the couch and two pairs of shoes lined the entryway, but the space was just as bland as it had been when he moved in. Something on that thought bothered Emma more than she wanted to admit as she watched him toe out of his shoes and shed his jacket.

But she didn’t want to linger on that thought now. It stirred up too many unpleasant feelings, and she needed to focus on turning him back into himself. “Alright,” she coaxed gently, motioning down the small hallway, “to bed with you. You need more sleep than what you surely got on that bench.”

He arched a dark brow as he walked past her, settling a hand to his shirt buttons. “Are you going to tuck me in?”

A smirk surfaced on her face in spite of herself. She never thought she’d actually miss the insufferable flirt, but now that he was starting to come back – she realized just how disconcerting the absence had been. “Maybe,” she followed him down the hall, boldly rounding his bedroom door frame, “if only to guarantee that you stay there and actually sleep. Can’t have you going back out into the world looking like a zombie.”

His back faced her, but she could see the open sides of his shirt swinging free. Goodness, if he turned around, she would be able to see skin and the path of dark hair from his neck down to the waist of his trousers. Her mouth went dry at the thought, a frisson of heat sparking in her blood. Especially as she suddenly remembered she was only clad in her very casual running clothes without a scrap of makeup.

“Well, lass,” he groaned as he dropped a knee to the bed, crawling up the comforter to settle against the pillow, not bothering to pull down the bedcovers or undress further. “Good to know you care so much.” His words were heavy with sleep as he sighed against the pillow, curling up on his left side. “Not more than two hours, yeah?”

She pushed off the door frame. “I’m not your personal alarm clock, you know.” Reaching for the clock on the bedside table, she adjusted the alarm setting. He blew another deep sigh, shifting against the pillow and drawing her gaze. She acted before she could overthink it.

Her hands reached for the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, tracing the warm metal chain against his skin. She easily found the clasp, unhooking it and pulling it free. The pendants were equally warm from his residual body heat as she gathered it in the palm of her hand to place it on the bedside table.

She looked back to him again, this time settling her hand to his right earlobe, brushing the stud there and loosening the clamp. It slid free of his ear and clinked softly against the bedside table. Her fingers tingled from where they brushed his skin and she couldn’t deny it was tempting to stroke through the dark locks of his hair, soothe his troubled brow. She sighed softly, instead resting her hand to his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Sleep well.”

Silence greeted her in response, but then she saw his left hand shuffle. It slid up over his shoulder, resting atop hers, squeezing lightly. The broad, strong press of it felt nice as his touch lingered. “Thank you, Emma.”

She gave his shoulder one last squeeze, pulling away before she lingered on the touch any longer. Her heart had no right to race so fast as she left the bedroom, leaving the door ajar on her way out. She took a deep breath, taking a last glance around his spartan living room and kitchen. Her gaze landed on the stove top percolator and an idea seized her.

She might not be able to help him with whatever so obviously haunted him but she could percolate one hell of a good pot of coffee for him to wake up to.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy rears its head as passion and past are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading! Glad you made it this far :)  
> T minus 7 chapters until mission launch...  
> And credit to English philosopher Bernard Williams when Killian quotes him.

Her car door slammed shut behind her as she turned for the Launch Control Center – LCC. Another unremarkable building in-of-itself, but like every other building at KSC, it was devoid of first-floor windows. Too risky for spies to peek in through the windows, and no one wanted the Russians getting an inside look at any of the KSC facilities, let alone the one where every mission launch originated.

The midday sun painted the gray building in bright, harsh lines that made her squint as she approached. The obscenely tall Vertical Assembly Building – VAB – would cast an imposing shadow over the building’s facade later in the day but she wouldn’t be in this area of KSC that long. Director Midas needed the upgrade status reports within the next hour and she needed to run every respective department manager down to get them.

She cast a quick glance at the activity humming around her. Everything out here was in full-scale launch preparation mode with T minus two months to go. Engineers in hardhats walked to and fro; forklifts buzzed around with varying payloads. Even the crawler steadily crept down the crawlerway, approaching the buildings at its nearly invisible speed of 2 miles per hours. The scale of everything in this part of KSC never failed to make her smile with impressed wonderment. The VAB housed preparation of the behemoth Saturn V rocket, complete with umbilical tower, and it still amazed her how the whole assembly fit on the crawler for transport.

Such true, technological wonders of the modern age.

And, somehow, she had a front-row seat. For never having much of a place in this world, here she was -  a cog in the wheel of this big machine, doing her part to see to the successful launch of each mission. Granted, it was a small part – but surely it counted for something.

“Have you ever seen anything so big before?” Killian’s melodic voice caught her by surprise as she stopped on the sidewalk, still staring out at the crawler.

Slowly, she turned to look at him, lips quirking in a small smile. This past week had seen him much improved from his mood last Saturday. Whatever weight fell on his shoulders had lifted – or been purposefully buried – and his cocky competence returned in full-force, just as focused and unfettered as when he arrived at KSC. All traces of his renegade, punk rock look had disappeared, replaced with his neatly combed hair and respectable shirt and tie. She couldn’t deny the hint of disappointment about it – the longer she lingered over the memory of him that morning, that other look proved startlingly appealing. Not that she spent much time thinking about him, no. But the dark eyeliner made his bright blue eyes pop – despite the pained, bloodshot exhaustion – and the tease of skin bared by his shirt beneath the leather had haunted her dreams more than she dared to admit.

But no matter how he looked now or then, she couldn’t let his comment stand. “Yes, I have seen something that big before,” she watched his brow raise, intrigued, “during the last three missions.”

His smile widened with approval. “Even you remind me that I’m still the rookie on the block.”

“You shouldn’t worry. We’ll make a twentieth century astronaut out of you yet.” She looked out over the crawlerway, unable to hold back a small grin. “It doesn’t get old. Seeing all this. It’s continually…an incredible achievement.”

“Aye, I would hope so,” his words carried a reverent tone, “pushing the reaches of humankind’s grasp on the universe. Pushing physical boundaries and limits that were only dreams when your President Kennedy spoke of them nearly ten years ago - and the men of Apollo 1 have been buried for less than that – but here we are, seven lunar landings accomplished with an eighth on the horizon.” He exhaled gently. “’Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit’. Hard as it is to believe sometimes, but no less true.”

Her brow furrowed as she turned back to him. Was that really how he felt? There was passion in his voice, and it certainly sounded genuine. But how on earth did that fit with what he called himself that Saturday morning? It shouldn’t make her want to pry him open and understand. To know every facet of Killian Jones and find…solace? Comfort? But goodness, she shouldn’t. She should think about Walsh and only keep the basic pleasantries with this man here…but the thought made her heart ache.

At length, she offered a small smile. “And here, I thought you just wanted the fame and glory. Or was that the ‘heroic fool’ talking?”

Neither one of them had spoken about that morning since she’d left his place. The past week hadn’t afforded them any moments away from listening ears until now, but no embarrassment or regret colored his face. His face fell with resigned recognition, his eyes swimming with fond gratitude and other sentiments that she didn’t want to linger on. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he ducked his head, right hand raising to absently brush his earlobe – a nervous tell if she’d ever seen one. It made her instantly think back to the earring.

His hand fell back to his side. “I cannot thank you enough for all that you did on Saturday. It...means more to me than you know.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Her gaze met the guarded, hesitant set of his face. “I just...I want to still help. Something like that can’t happen again, and clearly, if it upset you so much that you drank yourself into oblivion without regard for your location, then it shouldn’t be a burden you bear alone.”

A dark memory haunted him as he worked a hard swallow. “You...you can’t save me, Swan.”

His choice of words struck her, concern softening her face. “Will you let me decide that for myself?”

He sighed, obviously considering his words. “An old... _friend_ came to town Friday night. And he said some things about my family that I didn’t much appreciate,” he licked his lips, looking unsure if he should continue, “and it brought me low – as you saw.”

The urge to reach out to him gnawed at her but she held herself still. “That may be a version of the truth, but it’s not the truth.”

“It’s the only truth I can give.”

She wanted to corner him, to contradict him, to drag it from him. But she recognized the armor he wore all too well. Perhaps later she could push him, but not now - not on the sidewalk outside the LCC in the midday heat. “I’m not...trying to make it hurt worse, Killian. Just, everything you said now took me by surprise. Didn’t fit with what you said that morning.”

“Aye, well…I wasn’t quite myself that morning.”

She knew that wasn’t entirely it. Clearly, there was a dark memory or two conflicting with whatever heroic, golden image the prestige of being an astronaut demanded. She didn’t even know how to go about helping him reconcile the two, but she did understand a thing or two about living with the weight of your past.

Maybe it was time to shift the topic. “What about your family – will they be here for the launch?”

He gave a sharp shake of his head. “No. We, uh…aren’t really on speaking terms. And honestly, that makes it easier. If there’s no one to miss you, that makes it easier to do the things that the job entails.”

He wasn't close with his family but he still cared enough to lose himself to a drunken stupor over them? She hummed sadly. “You mean like strapping yourself to a rocket for a trip to a destination that can’t support human life?”

A sad, snorting laugh left him. “Exactly that, love.”

Again, her arms itched to reach out to him. To wind around and hold him. Because she understood all too well how it felt to be so overlooked by everyone who might matter. She sighed, squinting out over the bright surroundings. “Well, you’ve still got two months left until launch. And you’re quite the rage of the typing pool right now. Who knows…maybe you’ll find someone special who will miss you.”

He huffed another chortle, looking at her from under his thick lashes and dark brows. “Oh, yes. I’m very much aware how many of them wish to make it with a devilishly handsome astronaut.”

Her face pinched, bemused. “Is that so, hm?”

“Of course,” his face lit with that familiar cheeky smirk that she hadn’t realized until this moment she actually missed, “I am devilishly handsome.”

She just resisted an eye-roll, feeling her traitorous mouth curl in a smile, unable to be truly irritated. It was nice to see him return to that cavalier attitude and…honestly, he wasn’t wrong. He exuded an undeniable appeal and she wasn’t blind. But he was so much more than that. Her heart swelled with overwhelming affection, wanting so strongly that it frightened her. No man had ever been so effective at getting under her armor, but that's exactly what he had done.

He took a step closer and her head tilted back, swept up in the sea of his eyes. “They may be hoping to win my affections, but honestly, all their efforts are in vain. Because I...Emma, would you have dinner wit-”

“Emma! What a surprise!” Walsh’s voice doused over her like a bucket of cold water. Coupled with the shock of Killian asking her to dinner, it was all she could do to stare back, wide-eyed.

The PR man walked up towards them, his smile full of polite greeting as he looked between her and Killian.

She struggled to swallow, to find her voice. “Walsh…hi. What-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He looked to Killian with a flash of suspicion before stepping up to Emma’s side. “I’m here to review the launch controller’s speech.” He leaned in, pecking her cheek before she could think.

Her face instantly heated, a sick feeling roiling in her gut. They had never displayed such obvious affection in their professional environment before, so why did he start now? And right on the heels of Killian’s dinner invitation? Goodness, she might just lose her lunch. She tried to keep her smile in place but felt it falter. “And I’m, uh…I’m here for the upgrade status reports. Headed that way…actually.” Her eyes landed on Killian, his mouth drawn in and expression guarded, wary.

All at once she wanted to plead with him, to convince him that it wasn’t…that she didn’t…. That’s when the warm weight of Walsh’s arm wrapped around her waist, tucking her into his side.

“Well, then, let’s not keep everyone waiting.” Walsh looked to Killian with a blank look. “If you’ll excuse us, please, Captain Jones? We have work to do.”

“If you’ll pardon me, mate, but the lady doesn’t look entirely comfortable.” Killian’s voice held a dark note of concern.

“Well, _mate_ ,” Walsh’s tone was strongly mocking, “considering that she’s my soon-to-be fiancee, that concern is between her and me.”

She gasped, struggling for air and blinking rapidly as Walsh’s words echoed in her mind. Soon-to-be fiancee. Her stomach knotted tighter as she shifted from Walsh's grasp, feeling his hold stiffen. This...this felt so wrong.

She glanced up at Killian, trying to force a smile, trying to assure him that she was alright. He didn’t look the slightest bit convinced, but she kept trying. “It’s alright, captain. Though, uh, thank you for your concern. I...we really should be going.” She knew her smile was awkward and stilted.

The unyielding look on Killian's face told her that he knew it, too. “Aye, well…,” he stepped aside with a sharp look, gesturing them forward, “please don’t let me keep you.”

Walsh tugged her into step beside him as Killian walked away, out towards the parking lot. She couldn’t believe what just happened. She shot Walsh a tight look. “What the _hell_ was that about?”

“Language, Emma, please. No call to be so unladylike.”

“Unladylike? After you treated me like I was nothing better than your prized trophy?” She shrugged free of his hold, straightening her blouse. “Your jealousy couldn’t have been more obvious.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.” No hint of shame colored Walsh’s face or his words. “I didn’t like how he looked at you - my soon-to-be-fiancee. He has no-”

“Please don’t call me that. I haven’t given you an answer yet, and I could still say no.”

His stride faltered, turning to her with a shocked look. “Why...why would you? Just think of the life we could have together.” His mouth curled in a smile. “Of the family that we could have - you know my job is more than adequate for a comfortable life. You’d want for nothing as Mrs. Walsh Morgan. Would you really throw away the last eight months for…for what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, right now.”

He shook his head, smiling down at her with a patronizing air. “I know this isn’t you, Emma. You’re just...stressed from the day, and confused. I’ve heard the stories - that man has a dastardly charm and he employs it like a weapon.”

“Like a weapon?”

“Of course, don’t you understand? Even you can’t see when he dazzles and blinds you with it.” He took another step closer, eyes pleading with her. “That’s why I don’t like him. That’s why I want him to know that you’re mine, and that’s why I don’t want you around him anymore than professionally necessary.”

“You have no call to be so cruel. How can you even suggest that I…,” she shook her head, jaw tensing with frustration, “I am perfectly capable of controlling myself - I don’t just lose my head over a handsome smile and a cheeky line.” She bristled, forcing a hard swallow. “How can you think so little of me?”

“Because I saw you just now, too. And the look on _your_ face…,” he bit his lip, voice catching with hurt frustration, “you haven’t ever looked at me like that.”

She swallowed hard, trying to figure out exactly what to say. This wasn’t what she needed this afternoon. “I...it wasn’t intentional. It didn’t mean anything.” Should she apologize? Did she want to?

“I don’t want to see you look at him - or another man - like that _ever_ again. Understood?”

She blinked up at him. “I don’t know if I can promise that....” The turn of this conversation baffled her. What happened to the Walsh who proposed to her? The one who promised to wait for her and respect her decisions?

“Then, at least promise that you’ll think of me when Captain Jones tries to turn your head, and let that guide you.”

Offense reared its head. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

“Presumptuous? I’m only the man who’s waiting on your response to my proposal. I’ve offered you the rest of my life - I think I have the right to be presumptuous!”

She blinked hard, drawing a deep breath - glancing around to remember where they were, what they were supposed to be doing. “I can’t...Walsh, we can’t do this here. We...we have jobs to do.”

“Then, have dinner with me tonight. We can discuss it more, and you can give me an answer.” His tone left no room for disagreement. “You need to decide, Emma. We can’t continue this way without an answer.” He flashed an uncertain smile, exhaling a deep breath. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” Without a backwards glance, he turned from her and continued towards the LCC, leaving her to stand there.

Her mind reeled. How had everything managed to go so sideways so quickly? How was she possibly going to unravel everything? A welling, trembling panic rose in her chest and she struggled to reign it in with a few deep breaths.

This shouldn’t be important right now. She had a job to do. And she needed to do it.

Job. Work. Then, she could figure out the rest of her life.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma frees herself from her trap while Killian struggles with his.

Even six hours later, Walsh’s reaction still surprised her. No matter how she tried to reconcile the man she’d known for eight months with the green-eyed, possessive brute that showed himself this afternoon, she never could find an answer.

It was just more proof, wasn't it? Proof of a universal truth that she already damn well knew. That love would never last in her life. Everyone who she’d been foolish enough to open herself to had turned on her and left her.

Neal only had the distinction of being the first lover to abandon her, but there’d been a string of state houses and hurtful foster parents before that. But that’s exactly why she’d given everything to Neal - a college sweetheart that should have made her happy till death do them part. But that was before she found out about his criminal record, before he tried to rope her into his schemes, before she learned that she could face jail time for her actions.

She still remembered those long, lonely nights after everything came to a head - how she hated herself for being so swept up in the romance, for allowing herself to believe that she could finally have some happiness.

But the longer she stayed, happiness wasn’t in the cards for Emma Swan’s life in Boston. That’s exactly why she applied for the job at Kennedy Space Center in Florida. A chance to start over. A new place that wouldn’t remind her of Neal.

And the first year had been great. Then, a new PR assistant manager started and she took the first chance she’d taken in years. A chance that lead to her current situation.

It felt so fast. Too fast. She could see the white wedding, a little house with a stove and a bassinet - and it felt stifling. How could she possibly sign her life to that? Especially after Walsh's display this afternoon. She certainly didn’t appreciate his domineering behavior and certainly, especially, not in front of Killian.

Goodness, she didn’t need to think about him right now. But suddenly, those earnest blue eyes wouldn’t leave her mind - whether tired and rundown as they had been on the boardwalk, or bright and perceptive in the brilliant afternoon sun today - and tugged straight at her heart.

She blew a sigh as she paced along the small length of her room at Granny Lucas’. Another fleeting glance to her bedside clock confirmed that Walsh should arrive in four minutes. Not two weeks ago, she would have already been downstairs, waiting with an eager smile for his arrival. But now?

Now, she knew what she had to do. After everything that transpired today, there was no hope that she could trust Walsh to be the exception to the rule. 

No, the only person she could trust was herself.

She closed her bedroom door behind her, quietly descending the stairs. She didn’t want to speak with any of the other tenants or Granny right now. Not while she needed to stay focused.

Walsh said that she had to make a decision. And she had.

Headlights shone from the curb through the front door window before she opened it and walked out into the balmy night. Walsh got out of the car as she approached, coming around to open her door. His smile caught in the light from the streetlamp, his face pleasant as if nothing about this afternoon’s conversation had happened. “There she is,” he said happily, “looking beautiful as always. I’ll never know how you manage it after such a long day.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek and she winced.

Everything about his touch felt so wrong now. But she could at least give him the courtesy of rejection in the privacy of the car, offering a weak thanks as she slid into the passenger seat, watching him walk back around.

The engine fired under his hand as he settled into his seat. “I thought we could go for oysters. That little place on the beach -”

“Walsh,” she licked her lips, looking over at him with heavy eyes, “I can’t...I can’t marry you.”

He froze, hand on the steering wheel, as he turned to her. “I told you that we don’t have to get married right away...I just need your answer tonight.”

“I know, and it’s just that...I can’t marry you, regardless.”

His lips pulled to a tight line, heartbreak infusing with frustration. “What happened? What changed? This...this feels like it happened overnight.”

She inhaled deep, piecing the words together. “There’s...been a lot of unhappiness in my past, and it’s left me with a lot of hurt. Hurt that after this afternoon - even if I were inclined to share it with you, I don’t think I can trust you with it.”

“Of course, you’re not inclined to share or trust. You’ve...you’ve been so tightly walled off since the moment I met you, but once we were together? That started to change, Emma.” His mouth pulled to a small smile. “You started to change. And you shouldn’t throw that all away - you shouldn’t shut me out. I...I like to think I’m good for you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let your jealousy get the better of you. I don’t...need anyone to save me or change me.” She shook her head, face falling. “I spent years at the mercy of those who manipulated me and tossed me around without any regard for how I felt, and that’s exactly how you treated me this afternoon."

“And that won’t happen again! Once you’re my wife - once everyone knows that you’re mine and we’re together forever...why would I have any reason to be jealous then?”

Her brow creased with rising offense. “You don’t own me, Walsh...even if I had said yes, and became your wife - you still wouldn’t own me. And you certainly shouldn't expect to control me.”

“You would be required by vow to honor me, your husband, and with that -”

“But I’m not marrying you. I won’t.”

Silence fell in the car, only broken by the low hum of the idling engine. Her stomach twisted in knots as she debated just getting out. She didn’t know what else was left to say. Should she apologize? Should she offer more explanation? But he just wasn’t a good fit for her.

Maybe no man ever would be.

She exhaled softly, shaking her head gently. “I am genuinely sorry, Walsh. For how this played out. But it’s better for both of us this way.”  

He huffed a sad, snide sound. “Is that supposed to help me sleep at night?”

“No,” she looked over at him one last time before reaching for the door handle, “only you can help yourself with that. Goodbye, Walsh.”

* * *

Killian's fingers itched for his flask. To drown the maudlin gloom in mouthfuls of spicy heat and alcoholic burn. But he’d been down that road before and Liam - God rest his soul - had born sole witness to it.

After those long, agonizing days, Killian swore that he’d never do it again. With Liam’s death, he’d sworn it again on his brother’s grave. It didn’t stop him from recognizing the demon's sweet allure all the same, though.

Especially as the days dragged. Especially as his second Friday meeting with Gold loomed ever closer. Especially as the knowledge of Emma dating - no, _engaged_ \- to the PR man permeated his brain, constricting his chest.

He tried not to think about it - all of it, any of it. And largely, it worked during the days. Denial had its uses and it allowed him to focus on the mission, on his training, on the objectives. But at night - there was nothing. Nothing to stop the racing of his mind, the endless analysis of how to turn this situation around. He might be powerless about Emma, but what about David?

No one at NASA that he interacted with tipped off anything to indicate whether or not they worked for Gold. He long contemplated the merits of confiding in someone - Midas, his crewmates, the mailman, the medical tech - but then who would they tell and what would Gold do when word reached him? Assuming, of course, that Liam and Elsa's children weren’t dead already.

Letters and phone calls were too risky. And if he couldn't trust anyone within KSC, then...what choice did he have?

Ultimately, it proved stupefyingly easy. For all the hours he agonized over it in bed, he barely even had to try. But the medical tech left the main desk unattended with all three evaluations and typed copies in broad view. Killian had simply reached out for David’s, tucking the folder inside his suit jacket as he passed by.

In hindsight, the ease with which he’d been able to remove such a sensitive file from KSC should concern him. He knew that he should raise the issue with KSC security, surrender the folder and turn himself in. But that’s what a hero would do.

And there was nothing heroic in the deaths of two innocent children.

He stared down at the medical folder as though it would burn through his coffee table. Gold had said to deliver the folder in two weeks and hadn’t bothered to reach out since. Killian knew the crocodile well enough to read between the lines.

After donning his dark clothing, leather jacket and eyeliner, he tucked the offending folder under the black leather and ventured out into the night. He debated taking his flask, but firmly left it on his bedside table. He needed some incentive to go back home, anyway. But that didn’t stop him from taking a deep pull before he left.

The dark, shrouded boardwalk presented a less than welcoming sight as his footfalls thudded on the planks. His mind spun, still grasping for a way to fight this. Some way to force Gold’s hand and not surrender the file. But he was too isolated, too in the dark to know Gold’s true intentions, and too far removed from Elsa to protect the kids.

He knew what he hadn't wanted to admit - he was well and truly trapped.

“You know, that’s something I’ve always admired about you, captain.” The crocodile’s voice drifted out of the shadows, the familiar all-black suit clad silhouette emerging. “Always so prompt. As you like to say - good form.”

Killian shook his head, a terse motion. “Nothing good about it.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re wrong about that.” Gold strolled over towards him, eyes sharp and intent despite his seemingly casual posture. “You have it.”

Killian grit his teeth against the man’s unwavering confidence and maddening authority. He held his arm tighter to his body, the folder secure between his jacket and his shirt. “First, you’re going to tell me why. Why and what you’re planning to do with it.”

Gold cocked his head, brows pinching as if trying to understand. “And exactly what leverage do you have here? The deal was simple - you bring me David Nolan’s medical eval, or those two children don’t live to see the sunrise tomorrow.”

“And if I’m betraying everyone I have in my life right now for two children I’ve never met, then I will damn well know why!”

The crocodile stared back with cold, assessing eyes. “Show me that you have it, first.”

Forcing a hard swallow, he pulled back the flap of his jacket to expose the folder before reaching to pull it out. Nothing had ever felt heavier as he gripped it tight, lips curling to a snarl. “Now, you fucking tell me _why_.”

A sinister, secretive smirk curled Gold’s lips. “The Russians have a vested interest in seeing this particular mission fail. The higher they are, the farther they fall.”

"The Russians? I didn't know you could be bought." 

Gold shrugged as though it was obvious. "The right deal always has a price."

“Why David, then? I’m the new card on the table for this mission - the reason this is being called the Mission of International Cooperation.”

“My, my. Someone certainly thinks highly of himself,” Gold stepped forward, holding out a black gloved hand, “the file, please. Tit for tat, you understand.”

Killian’s fist tightened on the file as if that would somehow help him keep possession of it. His gut wrenched in tight knots as he forced a swallow. His eyes dropped closed, dejected as he surrendered the file to Gold’s outstretched hand.

He wanted to punch the gleeful smile off Gold’s face. He wanted to pound the man’s head against the boardwalk until he stopped breathing. His hand tightened to a fist at his side as the muscles of his jaw tightened and he glared at Gold, willing the man to burst into flames.

“You can clench your jaw and flash your eyes but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in this together now,” Gold looked down to the file, tucking it close to his chest, “suffice to say, David Nolan will not reach the moon.”

Killian shook his head, eyes blazing. “Then suffice to say that I will do _everything_ in my power to protect him.”

Gold shrugged with an amused, dubious air. “Well, you’re off to a banging start, captain.”

“No. It’s over - this is finished. I’ve done what you asked, and you will take those children out of your crosshairs.”

The man pursed his lips, tilting his head to regard Killian. “For now. Yes, this deal is done, and I will honor my word. But I cannot guarantee that I won’t have future need of you. You owe me for life, remember?" The gold of his tooth flashed as a smile curled his lips. “But in the meantime, I hope you will accept my best wishes for the mission. I’m sure it will be…a trip to remember.”

 

There wasn’t enough rum in his flask to drown the crocodile’s parting leer from his memory. But he did his best.

He hadn't even bothered to turn off the television set, dull gray color splashing the walls as static filled the speakers and he took another long drink. His mind swam, blurry from booze and exhaustion. Such exhaustion. It had to be well on past 0100 hrs by now. 0200 hrs even?

But Gold’s words clogged his mind. Russians. David Nolan. Not reach the moon. Future needs.

Was there no way to rid himself of the bloody crocodile for the rest of his life and move on? But move on to what?

His heart clenched, taking another long drink. Emma’s face stood out so vivid in the raging torrent. Emma - the lovely lady Swan - with her blonde curls, striking green eyes and sharp tongue. The way her face softened with a smile, the way her mouth pinched when she glared at him. The fire that she stirred inside him, the slumbering passion that she awakened in him.

But all of it for naught.

Soon-to-be fiancee. That’s what the PR man had said.

His stomach cramped, physically sick with the thought as he slouched further against the couch, throwing his head back. Of course, he didn’t deserve Emma - nothing in his life made him worthy of any happily ever after with her. But bloody hell if he didn’t want it - and her - all the same.

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets - but he'd already broken up one marriage with deathly consequences. He simply couldn't bring himself to do it again. If he was too late, he was too late. He'd survived with a broken heart for so long and still hadn't died. He certainly believed it was his lot in life until Emma opened his eyes. But if this was his path, then he would walk it. Come hell or high water.

Or the vacuum of space.

He may not be able to fight for Emma any longer, but he would damn well fight for David. He'd meant every word that he said to Gold. His betrayal may already be unforgivable but he would watch the man's six like a hawk. If he could somehow manage to thwart Gold's plan, if he could somehow manage to outsmart such a kingpin of the criminal underworld, then maybe...just maybe there might be a promise of redemption somewhere.

He took a final belt of rum, pushing up from the couch to turn off the telly, knowing only two things for certain.

He wouldn't lose another brother.

And he completely, hopelessly loved Emma Swan.

 

The rest of the weekend passed in fits of sleep and empty solitude. It was plenty of time to put the hangover behind him and solidify his resolve. It was a slippery slope into the darkness he'd spent his life fighting but he'd be damned if the crocodile sent him to rock-bottom. Killian had proven himself a scrappy survivor and that's exactly what he intended to do. 

Monday morning found him bright-eyed and clear-headed as he pulled open the O&C front door, waving at the security guard. The daily briefing wouldn’t start for another half-hour, and he knew he was encroaching on Emma’s preparation time, but he couldn’t stay away this morning. He hadn't seen much of her outside their official interactions, but after the weekend, he longed for a quiet moment with her. 

Even though she wasn’t his to court, her presence still soothed him. Maybe he’d always just been a glutton for punishment, but he would willingly sit in silence pretending to read his schedule if it meant spending time with her.

He reached for the conference room door handle just as a rattling clink of metal and ceramic sounded down the hallway. Turning his head, his gaze landed on Emma gently pushing the coffee service towards him. The marigold color of her cardigan played with the lovely shade of her curls that his fingers longed to caress.

Her lips pulled to a dim, almost conflicted smile that he’d give anything to kiss away. Her armor was on, but her eyes – always the most telling – spoke to renewed hurt and fresh uncertainty. Despite the strong set of her shoulders, she looked lost, adrift at sea and he yearned to be her anchor.

He never believed in true love – it was the silly stuff of fairy tales – but maybe he should reconsider.

Not even Milah had captured him with such otherworldly force and grounded him in her orbit.

She eyed him warily as she approached the conference room door. “Good morning. So much for blaming the first day for your early arrival….”

He held the door open, standing back as she pushed into the room. “If my presence is truly so intrusive, I can make myself scarce. Though, I would much prefer to just sit quietly.”

“Sit quietly? Never thought I’d see the day.”

His mouth teased a grin as he followed her in, the hydraulic door hinge hissing quietly. “I’m just full of surprises.”

He caught her soft hum as she pushed the cart to a stop, reaching down to the portfolio that lay alongside the service. Selfishly, he looked to the movements of her left hand, still trying to glimpse the telltale sparkle of a prominent gem. But as she turned around to face him, he noticed no such jewel. A spike of hope lanced through his chest.

He met those strong green eyes and couldn’t stop himself. “I apologize for overstepping my bounds – both for assuming that you were available to court, and for expressing concern over Mr. Morgan’s behavior. I should have known better than to assume another man hadn’t also noticed your exquisite loveliness, but I cannot stand by when I see bad form. And any man who blatantly disregards a lady’s comfort is certainly showing bad form. No lady deserves to be so belittled by a paramour. You least of all.”

The muscles of her jaw tightened, her lips pursing to hide any real emotion that threatened to slip through, despite the cute blush growing in her cheeks. Her eyes regarded him, stormy with so much conflict and turmoil. What could he possibly say – what could he possibly do – to prove himself to her? To earn her trust and the privilege to truly know the woman that was Emma Swan?

Her throat worked in an obvious swallow before she drew a deep breath. “You didn’t overstep anything. He…he made his choice, and so did I. Now, it’s all in the past, and time to move forward...without him."

Killian froze, unable to believe it. Had he understood her correctly? Was it possible the universe had shown mercy and given him the chance to fight for her? A chance to love her? 

Rationally, he knew what polite society dictated that he should say, but he didn’t want to offer his condolences on her broken relationship with the PR man. Killian had always had a selfish streak and he wasn’t fond of expressing false sentiment in the name of social decorum – especially if it meant lying to her.

Guilt clenched his gut at the thought and his selfishness won out. He would love her for as long as she allowed - maybe even for the rest of his life. And he wasn’t fond of lying to himself, either.

But he could read the hesitance, the fortification in her expression. She was bracing herself for impact, to head off the forward advance of his dinner invitation. And, bloody hell, there was nothing more that he’d love – but he wouldn’t push her. He never wanted her to run away from him. Never wanted to see her recoil the way she had at the PR man's touch.

He forced a swallow around the constriction in his throat, careful to reign in the swelling tide within him. His mouth tugged up to a hint of a hopeful smile. “I hope you won’t avoid me.”

She blinked quickly, as if fluttering tears from her eyes, but nothing else in her face changed when she whispered. “Be patient.”

“For you, I have all the time in the world.” He realized his words all too late. He hadn’t even been trying to make a poor joke about his impending departure from this world in seven weeks. “And all the time after I return to this world, too. Unless, of course, a moon-man kills me first.”

She huffed a gentle laugh, and he couldn’t help the laugh that cracked his face to match. If he could devote his life to the pursuit of making her smile and laugh, he would.

The door hinge hissed open, shooting a wave of disappointment through him. He didn’t want the conversation to end just yet, but he knew it was still a beginning. A beginning that could promise everything for both of them. He tipped his head in a polite farewell, flashing her a wink – a promise, a tease – before he stepped away to greet his boss.

The soft smile that warmed her face and lit her eyes stayed with him for the rest of the day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain falls as sparks fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the conservative rating increase :)

Rain descended on the cape. For the last four days, the outside world stayed a dull gray, soggy mess. How much more water did they need? Everything already wilted, heavy and limp. Granny Lucas’ potted plants. Emma’s curls. Even the paper for her typewriter.

She leaned back against her chair, rolling a stiff shoulder as she continued to listen to the rain patter against the window. She really shouldn’t have worn this dress today. The collar clung too tight to her skin, incessantly itching with all the moisture. The flare skirt draped across her lap with one too many layers of fabric for such a humid day. The fan in the corner of her desk reception area worked overtime, but it provided more annoyance from disturbing her papers than it did relief from the wet heat.

But all of that truly mattered little. What mattered most was finishing up the day’s reports and typing copies of each. So far, Robin was the only one who had handed over his task observation - TO - reports. With any luck, David and Killian would follow on his heels. The sooner she could start, the better chance she stood of leaving before it got too dark.

She sighed, rolling her neck and raising her hands back to the typewriter. The click of the keys was a steady rhythm, the ding of the return-line bell familiar. She supposed she should be grateful – by far and away, Robin had the neatest handwriting of the three. His TO reports routinely typed up neater and quicker than the others’.

“Knock, knock.” David’s pleasant voice drifted through the cracked door to the suite as he pushed it further open to reveal his equally pleasant smile. “Dropping off my TO reports.”

She bit down on the stab of jealousy that flared as he moved towards her desk. How did he manage to look so crisp and sunny despite the oppressive weather? “Thank you,” she tried to hide the tired note in her voice, offering a polite smile, “I’ll get started on yours as soon as I finish Captain Mills’.”

“Excellent, and my apologies that I wasn’t able to deliver it sooner.” He shook his head with an air of guilt as he handed her the grid-lined pages. “I hope that it won’t cause you to stay too late.”

“Not any later than Captain Jones’ report, since I haven’t received his yet, either.”

David huffed a tolerant, amused breath. “Unfortunately, I saw him still feverishly scribbling away but he should be along soon.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, any time.” He paused, a hesitant edge creeping to his gaze. “I…you know, Mary Margaret told me about you and Walsh Morgan.”

Emma’s eyes went wide, her face ashen. “She…she did?”

“She did, but it’s okay. You’re...you’re not in trouble.” His face quirked with a bemused grin as he shrugged, an uncharacteristically uncertain gesture for him. “She’s happy for you. You’ve always been good at what you do here. And if you’ve found someone who can appreciate you for all that and more, who makes you happy – then I’m happy for you, too.”

She struggled to breathe, to swallow as deafening silence fell. Her heart raced as she searched for words in the face of such a glowing endorsement. “Thank you. That’s…very kind of you to say. However, Walsh and I...we’re not together anymore.”

David's eyes widened with shock. “Oh, my goodness...I’m sorry to hear that, Emma. My apologies for being so presumptuous - and, please if I hit a nerve...I know even amicable breakups can still hurt.” His smile was so achingly kind. “I’ll be sure to let Mary Margaret know - is...is there anything we can do?”

A flush instantly burned her cheeks. “Oh no, no thank you. That’s...again, very kind of you. But, our breakup was not unexpected.”

He nodded, a reassuring light in his gaze to match the motion. “Of course. Well, if you do need anything, please don’t hesitate. And for the record,” he turned towards the door but not before glancing back with a playful smile. “I hope you’re not here too late this evening but if Hook isn’t here in five, you have my permission to hunt him down and rap his knuckles with a ruler.”

A laugh bubbled out of her at the image. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

He wished her goodnight and pulled the door closed behind him, returning her to the silence of the suite and the whirring of the paltry fan.

Goodness, why was Mary Margaret telling people about her and Walsh? Maybe David didn’t quite count as ‘people’ since he was her husband, but who else had she told? Emma's relationship with Walsh had largely played under the radar of the gossip circles, and she certainly didn’t want news of their breakup to make the rounds. Especially when it was barely a week past, and she couldn’t shake her growing feelings for Killian.

_I hope you won’t avoid me._

_Be patient._

It was the last line of defense she had. Killian had already broken through so many barriers, could she really let him through the last one? Could she take that last step to just say _yes_?

With Walsh, everything felt so fast, too fast – but with Killian? It terrified her how _right_ it felt.

Of course, he had been nothing but respectful since she revealed the news of her breakup and stalled the advance of his affections. But it was always present in the gleam of his forget-me-not blues, in the tug at the corner of his admittedly kissable lips, in the newfound warmth that infused his voice when he called her 'love'.

She just needed to not be so damned scared, dammit. But that was just it. There was no reason for him to be the exception to the rule of her life, so then...why was she starting to believe it? To want it?  

She thumbed through David’s report pages, setting them atop a stack on her desk. Robin’s report was nearly finished but she needed another sheet of typewriter paper. Without looking, she blindly reached out, fumbling on the edge of the stack and knocking a slew of papers off the front of her desk.

She froze at the sudden motion, eyes dropping closed in a wave of frustration. This was not what she needed to contend with when she already had so much to do. Quite likely, she wouldn’t be able to use any of that paper now as it was smudged with dirt and grit from the floor. That would mean another trip to the supply cabinet on the first floor. With a dismayed sigh, she stood from her chair and rounded the desk, glaring down at the paper strewn about the floor. If only she could wave her hand and restore the mess.

Her knees popped as she crouched to gather the fallen sheets, her skirt fanning out around her. Her expression soured further as she confirmed the grime against the stark white paper that now rendered it completely useless to her typewriter.

“Good evening, Swa-,” the all-too-familiar lilting voice drifted in from the doorway, stopping short, “are you – may I help?”

She shook her head, resolutely not looking up as she reached for the last of the pages. “No, thank you. I’ve almost got it.”

“I’d believe that better, love, if you weren’t scowling at the floor like you want to set it on fire.”

“No, really, it’s…,” she exhaled an annoyed breath, “it’s not the floor’s fault.”

His footsteps sounded against the linoleum and she looked up to see his hand extended towards her. The helpful gesture tugged an unbidden smile to the corner of her mouth.

She set her hand in his, pushing up to her full height. “Thank you.” She couldn’t believe the blue of his eyes at such a close distance. 

“Any time.” His words held a deliciously deep, gentle note as he still held her hand, subtly sweeping his thumb across the back of it before letting go.

She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment as his touch fell away.

His mouth pulled to a teasing grimace as he held up his TO report. “Slow student of the class, I’m afraid. But better late than never.”

“Thank you.” She took the pages from him, twisting to set them and the floor papers on her desk.

“I hope that I haven’t caused you to stay late on my account.”

She shrugged, trying to effect a casual air. “Not specifically, no. It’s just…part of the job.”

“The job that you perform admirably, Emma.”

Her spine turned to jelly, wanting to dissolve into the appreciative affection dripping from his words. But all at the same time, she felt her hackles rise. Had he and David both conspired to flood her with praise for her job performance? Or did she just look that desperately in need of a pep talk?

Why couldn’t she for once - just _once_ \- let herself feel without having to be suspicious?

She swallowed a nervous breath. “Thank you, Killian,” his name felt good to say, “I guess I needed to hear that today more than I thought.”

His answering smile showed only kind understanding. “You’re a tough lass, to be sure. But you don’t always have to be.”

Her heart seized in her chest and tears stung the corners of her eyes. If only he would stop looking at her like that. Like he would give her the world if she only asked. Her stomach knotted anxiously and she resisted the desire to fall into him. Her words, when she spoke, were barely more than a trembled whisper. “Yes, I do.”

“What makes you thinks that?” His eyes pleaded with her, begging her honesty, her faith to trust him with such precious knowledge.

And she wanted to. God, how she wanted to. But she knew better. The cost was too high. She shook her head, a quick, furtive gesture. “Because I just…can’t.”

Heartache flashed in his gaze, softening his face with unspeakable tenderness. He tilted his head as he edged in ever closer, the day-worn remains of his cologne reaching her nose. “I don’t know what – or who – made you think this way. But they’re wrong. And it’s alright – all of it. Everything you’re not saying, it’s all perfectly alright.”

Her bottom lip trembled, hating that he could see her so well. She didn’t think anyone had ever even bothered to look before. But he had. And he was still looking right at her.

Words stuck in her throat. Too many things she wanted to say but couldn’t clouded her thoughts and she couldn’t think – not with the heat of him so close, the scent of him so prevalent. It might make her say – or do – something. Something that couldn’t be undone.

Her gaze slid from his, lingering on the shape of his mouth, the color of his lips. If the touch of his hand alone could set her on fire, what would it be to know the press of his kiss? What would he taste like? How would his moans sound as she swallowed them?

With a shaky exhale, she tore her gaze from him altogether, suddenly feeling lost as she stared down at the gray linoleum squares. His answering deep breath sounded equally strained and she felt her heart race. Tension thrummed in the air as she could find nothing to say.

Could he not see? Could he not see that she didn’t know what to do? How to take that next step and not break?

His footsteps fell heavy, the heat from his body fading as he stepped back. Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk as she slumped against it, listening to him walk away. She drew a shaking breath, feeling the tremble of her shoulders as she dragged her eyes up from the floor.

His hand reached out for the office door handle, hesitating over the metal knob. It clenched to a tight fist and she could see the pull of muscle up the back of his hand, through his forearm. He turned on his heels, back to face her, instinctively drawing her gaze to his. And she told him everything.

Her walls crumbled and she pleaded with him. Begged him to understand. Wanted to trust him with everything but she was scared. So scared.

Understanding and love - how had she been so blind - softened his face in the most vulnerable way. He abandoned the door, closing the distance between them, clearly broadcasting his intentions and her pulse raced. Stopping close - so close - he titled his head down and her hand rose to thread through the soft hair on the nape of his neck, gloriously surrendering to his orbit.

The first touch of lips fell feather-light, whisper-thin but no less electric. She gasped at how _right_ it felt as she pushed against him, his mouth sealing to hers. Her rushing intake of breath matched his as they kissed and kissed, speaking without words to each other’s heart.

His strong hand rose to cup the back of her head, threading delicately through her curls. A moan rose low in her throat as she pulled him in closer, sliding her hand up into his dark locks. She tilted her head into the deepening contact, lips reverberating with his groan as she opened for him. Nothing had ever felt so perfect as his tongue brushed hers, basking in the feel of him, the heat of him.

She adjusted her weight against the desk to widen the spread of her legs as her other hand wrapped around his shoulder, encouraging him forward. A growl rumbled his chest as he moved against her, shooting an explosive jolt through her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to laugh. He was here, and this was happening _now_ , and it was everything she’d ever wanted.

He slowly broke the kiss, brushing his nose against hers as their foreheads pressed together. “God, Emma...you are all I have wanted since I landed.” He kissed the corner of her mouth as her smile exploded, wide and radiant. “You are even more beautiful when you smile like this, love. I’m honored beyond measure that you’d share it with me.”

She couldn’t summon any words to add to the moment, knowing her lips could convey her feelings far better than her brain could right now. He met her kiss with as much enthusiasm as she gave, losing herself to the overwhelming presence of him and the desire thrumming through her body.

How long had she wanted him? How long had she deluded herself into thinking that she didn’t? She whimpered to feel his hand, hot and heavy on her hip before sliding around to splay wide across her lower back. She arched into him, gasping as his lips fell to her jaw, teasing along the slope of her neck. Her breasts pushed against his chest and suddenly she wished there weren't so many layers between them. Her fingers carded through his dark hair and clutched the solid muscle of his arm, urging him ever closer.

He nipped against her skin, drawing another delicious breathy sound from her. A fire burned low in her belly, stoked by the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. Her thighs twitched against him, desperate to wrap around him.

With a hungry growl, he pushed her further onto the desk, lowering a hand to raise her leg to his hip. The new angle pressed the hard ridge of his arousal flush against her, increasing her want tenfold.

“ _Killian_...." She gasped when his mouth returned to hers, heavy and consuming. The press of his hand still lingered on her thigh, heat seeping through the fabric of her dress. What she wouldn’t give to feel the heat of him against her skin.

She pleaded with him through the slide of her tongue, with the press of her lips. Gave him every permission to touch her, to love her. To show her that she could love without fear and not be disappointed.

“Emma,” his voice pitched deep with heady arousal against her mouth, “god, this...I want to touch you so _bloody much_ but this is absolutely not what I ever had in mind for our first time.”

Her breath caught as she stilled in his embrace. “Our first time...you mean - you’ve thought about this before?”

“Aye, love,” a teasing kiss fell to the corner of her mouth, “nightly, it seems. Ever since I saw you in my bedroom, I can’t unsee you. Can’t help but imagine what you would look like in my bed. How you would sound in the throes of rapture. How sweet your taste in the morning, and how the soft light would play on your skin.”

Impossibly, tears stung her eyes. Words had never done much for her in the past, but hearing him now? She wrapped her leg tighter around him, as her heart threatened to burst. Was it possible to want him anymore than she already did?

“I...I’ve thought about you, too.” She trembled as the confession left her lips, having never felt more exposed. “I’ve...just been so...scared.”

His arms tightened around her, holding her ever close, ever so safe. “Aye, love. It’s been...far too long since I’ve felt this strongly about anyone.”

A rushing breath of nervous laughter left her, relief palpable. “Me, too.” She nuzzled further into his cheek, brushing his nose. “But I want you _so_ much.”

His lips cut off any further attempts to speak, fitting together as if they’d done this for years instead of minutes. She surged forward into him, drowning in the taste of him as her body pushed against his.

A distant door slammed down the hallway, echoing through the office and slicing through the desirous haze.

The both froze, still wrapped in their embrace as reality crashed down around them. Goodness, how had they let themselves get so carried away? In her office - the Director's reception suite - where anyone could just walk in?

A flushed, embarrassed smile widened her kiss-swollen lips as he stepped back, subtly adjusting the front of his trousers. A shiver ran through her at the loss of his body heat despite the warm humidity in the air as her body ached for the denied satisfaction of his touch.

He licked his lips, looking up with love and lust blown eyes that she wanted to drown in. “Well, I…I don’t want to leave, but I probably should.”

She couldn’t hide her dazed smile. “Probably. But your…staying was most welcome.”

He hummed softly, hungrily. “Most welcome, indeed.” He reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing gently, his smoldering gaze burning with a promise. “And I look forward to a more thorough taste – whenever my lady desires.”

Her heart fluttered, a bolt of heat slamming through her. Goodness, how she desired – _rightdamnnow_ – but she knew better. She nodded gently, understanding and accepting. “I’ll hold you to it.”

His smile widened, dropping to look at their conjoined hands. “Then, I shall simply say goodnight. I wouldn’t want to be a corrupting influence on the stellar work performance of the fearsome Emma Swan.”

She scoffed, disgusted with the reminder about the work that littered the top of her desk. Work that she still needed to finish before tomorrow morning’s briefing. “I think it’s a little late for that. Trying to think straight after _this_ …is going to be hard.”

He chuckled throatily. “Don’t talk to me about hard, love. You felt all too well just how _hard_ it was for me.”

She shook her head, mock-irritation settling to her face. “Okay, ace – don’t press your luck.” She stepped up to him, drawing his gaze to her lips as she leaned in, kissing him soft and sweet. Her heart felt close to bursting as he returned the gentle pressure. “I’ll see you soon.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma never imagined afternoon delight with Killian would be 363 ft. tall.

“Good afternoon, Swan.”

Her mouth tugged into a smile as the velvety accent stole her attention from the typewriter. Just one day ago, that soggy afternoon right here at this desk, he’d pressed into her and she held him, kissing and touching like no one else existed. The memory brought a faint heat to her cheeks as she took in the knowing grin on his face. “Hi, Killian.”

His grin exploded wide with approval as he entered. “Are you under an immediate deadline? Or do you have an hour to spare?”

She stared back at him, incredulous. “I’m always under a deadline. So are you…every day puts us closer to launch.” The countdown clock approached T minus five and a half weeks, and everyone’s schedules grew tight and busy.

“Exactly.” His gaze hardened with an oddly serious expression. “And I realized that I still haven’t properly thanked you for that Saturday morning. So, I want to show you something.”

This sounded stranger by the minute. It was the middle of a Thursday afternoon, during the work day. And he wanted to take her off on some grand adventure to express his thanks?

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she tried to make sense of it. “That sounds like too much. And you already said thank you. That’s plenty.”

“Not to me, it’s not.” His eyes implored her, alight with a wicked, daring edge. “Come on, Swan. Take a chance. I hope…I think that you’ll like it.”

She couldn’t deny that she was curious, and she really didn’t think that he was out to get her in trouble. At least, not without her being a willing participant. As the memory of their scorching kiss burned in her mind’s eye, she knew there was only one thing she could say. “Alright.”

Giddy, boyish excitement lit his face. “Then let’s go, shall we?”

Butterflies lit in her stomach as she swept over her typewriter one last time, leaving the memo half-finished. It shouldn’t be hard to wrap up before Midas returned. She pushed up from her chair. “Do…do I need to bring anything?”

“No, though…,” his eyes deliberately swept her body, assessing, “you should remove your jewelry. Necklace and rings, if you’re wearing any. Any loose items in your pockets? Change or hair pins? Pencil in your hair?”

Her face scrunched with confusion. “That’s a very odd request.”

“You’ll understand when we get there.”

Unable to banish the uncertain smile from her face, she reached for the strand of red beads around her neck and popped the clasp. Dropping the beads to the desktop, she rounded the edge, deciding to have a little fun of her own.

Before she could overthink it, she pivoted on the balls of her feet, spinning in a circle to give him a full view of her body. She couldn’t help but watch his eyes rake up and down her figure, appreciative hunger sparking in his eyes. “No pockets on my dress to worry about, and no writing utensils in my hair. I'm not much of an accessories girl.”

The grin that teased his lips shouldn't make him look so irresistible. “Your heels are the only thing left then, but we’ll just have to work around that.”

“Killian,” the exasperated laugh bubbled out of her, “where are we going?”

“Patience, love.” He held out a hand towards her office door.

He remained tight lipped as they moved through the O&C, but he did snag two hard hats before they exited out into the afternoon sun. She’d never worn a hard hat before. Were they going somewhere that she’d actually have to wear it?

He tossed them idly into the backseat of his top-down, sporty red convertible before opening the passenger door for her. She dropped to the sun-warm leather, just barely restraining the urge to ask again about their destination.

But as he drove through the grounds, turning into a parking lot and flashing his credentials at the security gate, she got the answer. The impossible, jaw-dropping answer.

The Vertical Assembly Building. Of course, she was familiar with it. Everyone on the space coast was familiar with it. At 526 ft. tall, it dominated the landscape for miles around. But access was heavily restricted. It made sense – NASA didn’t want just anyone wandering through the building where the Saturn V rocket was assembled. Where it would be loaded onto the crawler for the slow trek out to the launch pad.

For two and a half years, she’d worked all around the building but had never been inside.

She blanched, nervous and excited as he parked in the building’s domineering shadow. “Are you sure I can…? I’ve never…I mean, I don’t have authorization.”

He arched a brow. “She’s my ship – so long as you stay with me, no one will question you.” With a glinting smile, he opened his door and reached for the hard hats in the backseat. “The tech team confirmed no sensitive activities are scheduled for this afternoon, and no critical systems are exposed. We’ll keep to the guarded observation platforms, and you’ve removed your potential to create a foreign material event.” He opened her door with a teasing grin. “Biggest hazard you pose is twisting your ankle on the grating with your heeled shoes.”

She sighed but couldn’t bring herself to be too annoyed with him as she took his hand, exiting the car. “Is this the part where you say something like ‘lucky for me I have a handsome captain who can swoop in for a dashing rescue if that happens’?”

He laughed softly under his breath, eyes shining with genuine affection. “Lucky for you, you have a _devilishly_ handsome captain who can swoop in for a dashing rescue if that happens.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that, buster.” She couldn’t deny the fluttering of her heart as she accepted the hard hat from him. She lifted it, feeling decidedly awkward as it settled to her head. She must have made quite the picture wearing it with her dress and heels – to say nothing of what her hair would look like afterwards.

He settled his neatly on his head, familiar with the fit and feel of it as he smiled with unbridled pride. “Come on,” he nodded towards the building, “I want you to be the first to meet my ship.”

“The first?” She fell into step alongside him, steadily approaching the main access door.

“Aye – she’s due to start rollout tomorrow morning and the whole coast will be able to see her. But it only seems fitting to have the two special ladies in my life meet first.”

The sentiment tugged at her heart but they reached the door before she could respond. He held the door open with an almost challenging smirk and she drew a breath to step into the cavernous space.

The sight immediately stole her breath – the mammoth ship, the impossibly large rocket dominated the space. The gleaming, pristine white and black hull stretched on endlessly upwards. Her neck muscles strained as she followed the sleek shape, stunned at the true scale of the Saturn V rocket. She knew it was big – had seen it at a distance plenty of times – but to see it now, mere feet away...?

A warm chuckle of approval hummed close to her ear. “If you could see the look on your face, love.” His voice coaxed her gaze away from the rocket, still wide-eyed and dazed with wonderment. “Gorgeous.”

“Me?” She breathed. “What about it…her?” She nodded back towards the rocket. “She’s…my goodness.”

He hummed another immeasurably pleased sound, tilting his head towards the cross-braced, steel platform structure that lined the closest wall. “Shall we?”

She followed him without protest into the wide elevator, rocking with the crude, jerky motions as it carried them up. The doors slid open to a wide platform, the red ‘UNITED STATES’ logo on the hull blazing straight ahead. He breezed out of the elevator and she followed, drinking in the surroundings with rapt attention.

“Oh, wow.” She braced a hand to the railing, glancing down at the main floor where they’d just stood. The rocket stretched forever between her and the ground, yet still climbed ever skyward. She craned her neck up, taking in the taper at the end of the third stage, just able to make out the second taper where the Command Service Module – CSM – sat. From this angle, she could also see the red launch tower that paralleled the rocket with the umbilicals, cables and supports attached.

“They just finished tear-down of the last installation and service platforms yesterday,” he started softly, standing alongside her at the railing, “so, you’re truly getting the first look at her, in all her unobstructed glory.”

She shook her head slowly, still unable to believe it. “She looks too big – too heavy – to fly. If I hadn’t seen her sisters before, I might have to think you were joking.”

“7.5 million pounds of thrust is no joking matter. And yes,” he feigned a sigh of disgust, “I have converted to your heathen system of measurements.”

"I’m sure David and Robin are grateful. Not sure they’d know what to do if you relayed status in meters and liters.”

“No, probably not. But all the readouts are in English units, so it won’t be a problem.” He met her gaze with a smile that spoke straight to her heart. “Shall we keep going up?”

“Can we, really? I already feel like I’m seeing more than I should.”

“Of course. You haven’t even met my ship yet.” He pushed off the railing with a waggle of his dark brows, and she fell into step beside him.

“What do you mean ‘haven’t met your ship yet’? How is the whole rocket not your ship?”

“I don’t fly her during the launch sequence, and by the time I do get my hands on her lovely controls, the majority of stages have broken off and she’s a whole different beast.” The elevator doors clanged shut behind him and he punched the next button.

“I should have known that you’d only consider the CSM to be your ship.”

“And not a finer lady out there. Excluding present company, of course.”

Her stomach did the same little flip as it had outside. He shouldn’t be allowed to just say things like that.

The elevator jolted to a stop as the doors slid open to reveal the next platform, emblazoned with a big ‘BAY LEVEL 5’ sign, putting them right next to the taper of the CSM. A small viewport stood out, a dark spot against the stark white of the hull. A sharp reminder that Killian would soon be inside the metal machine with only that viewport for a visual connection to the outside surroundings. 

The thought raced a shiver down her spine as they approached the railing and she looked out on the still impressive ship. “Does it scare you, even the smallest bit? To know that you’re going to strap yourself inside this kerosene fueled rocket?”

“To be more accurate, it’ll take a team of people to strap me into this rocket. But no – I can’t say that it scares me. At least, not the act of riding this thing into whatever awaits us out there.” His gaze followed his words, looking up towards the ceiling.

The sudden distant look on his face drew her pensive gaze. “Then, if not that…what does scare you about it?”

His head tilted down, eyes focused on the rocket as the corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’ll tell you later. I promise,” he slid his gaze back to hers, “but I want to hear how you know she’s kerosene fueled. Not everyone knows that.”

She scoffed, ignoring him in favor of the massive rocket. “I know plenty, thank you. Others may see fit to ignore the summary spec sheets that PR circulates to ‘educate’ employees, but then how would I ever have an advantage?”

He chuckled with warm approval. “Brains, beauty - and brawn. I pity anyone who ends up on your wrong side.”

“I think you’ll find my bark is worse than my bite.”

“I certainly hope not.” His voice dropped to a low, silky register and a bolt of heat rushed through her. “But where are my manners, I should have brought the champagne.”

“Champagne?”

“To celebrate our second date.”

“Second?” She quirked a bemused brow.. “Did I miss the first?”

“First was that rainy afternoon in your office. Second is here, now. After all, if I only count the quiet dinners, we wouldn’t even have one yet. And launch countdown is ticking.” He stepped in closer, bracketing her left side as he leaned down, breath brushing the shell of her ear. “I remember the way you looked at the crawler that afternoon - and I wanted to do anything to see that look again. So...undone at something that distracted you from all the weight you carry. You were so beautiful then. You’re beautiful now, and every day in between.” His hand raised, sliding around her waist to tuck her side against his front, hard hats clacking as he brushed his nose to her cheek. “And it would be my absolute honor to make you smile - or sneer at my terms of endearment - every day. Even if I don’t get to kiss you again. But, to be clear, I would very much like to kiss you again.”

It sounded too good to be true. The memory of his kiss burned hot and she couldn’t deny that she very much wanted to kiss him again, too. But she’d just parted ways from Walsh...shouldn’t that hurt more? Shouldn’t she be taking time for herself before launching into another relationship?

But as she stood in his arms, feeling his breath warm on her cheek, hearing the earnest plea in his voice - how could she ever let this man go? She drew a shaky breath. “Doesn’t this…I don’t know, but doesn’t this seem all too fast?”

“Aye,” his voice was so soft, so close, “it seems fast...but it doesn’t feel fast.”

She had to agree. Standing here in his arms, kissing him that day in her office - nothing had felt more natural. A perfect fit.

The idea of true love popped into her brain and she nearly scoffed. Such a fairy tale concept that the real world made impossible. How could two people just fall in love and live happily ever after? Happy endings were so hard to come by, no matter how easy David and Mary Margaret made it look.

His lips grazed her cheek, alighting sparks across her skin. She’d only known Killian for a little less than two months...how could it...was it even possible?

She sighed gently, leaning into his embrace, just taking in the sight before them. Fortunately, the surrounding platforms were empty and surely no one on the ground level could see them. She really didn’t want to deal with _that_ level of office gossip.

A strangely content smile settled on her face as she stared back out at the CSM - his soon-to-be home. “What’s she called? Your ship.”

His soft chuckle rippled around her skin. “Why, the _Jolly Roger_ , of course.”

She snorted, bumping back into him. “You’re kidding.”

“‘Fraid not, love. Seems someone in Mission Command has a sense of humor.”

“That is absolutely ridiculous. So, what’s the LM called? The  _Mermaid_?”

“Enh, that’s not important. She’s not my ship.”

“Territorial, much?”

“Just too proud of my lady to waste my attentions on another. With one stunning exception.”

“Glad to know I rank somewhere,” she drew a deep breath to steel herself, “because I would like to ask you out to dinner. Or something.” Because she knew he wasn't wrong - nothing about being with him felt out of place. So why should she hold back now? Especially as launch grew closer by the minute. 

His hold on her stiffened ever so slightly. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”

She couldn’t hold back a slightly nervous laugh, encouraged by his answer. “Should have known you’d be a gentleman about it.”

“Like I told you, Swan - I’m always a gentleman.” His hold on her tightened and she leaned further into him - or, at least as far as the hard hats let her. “I happily accept, on the condition that you let me plan the evening.”

“Well, captain,” she couldn’t quite keep the flirty note from her voice, “I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date, just so you know.”

His throaty chuckle sent a low, thrumming heat through her blood. “Well, that’s because you haven’t been out with me yet.” He popped the ‘t’ with a subtle suggestion that recalled all the electrifying promise his touch raced through her. “Tonight?”

She couldn’t help but smile at the hopeful note to this voice, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Yes, tonight.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poetry, music...and a watchful witch.

They barely made it through their salads before Killian shamelessly told her. He’d overheard David talk about this place – the quaint, Italian seafood bistro where he and Mary Margaret could dine without media attention – and he’d just been waiting for an opportunity to bring Emma here. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears had dusted with the most endearing shade of pink on the confession.

It was the first of many moments that she wanted to reach across the table and kiss him. But they made it to their entrees and wine as conversation flowed easily. Looking back on it now, Emma couldn’t recall a more enjoyable dinner date.

Surprisingly, for an engineer, he had an avid passion for reading with a particular penchant for poetry. His mouth curled in a wicked smirk, his gaze sincere, as he quoted Lord Byron, his tongue wrapping sinfully, expertly around the cultured syllables.

_“Alright, ace.” Heat rose in her cheeks to match the heat pooling between her legs, but her lips pursed with feigned annoyance. “No need to pull out all the stops tonight. But somehow, I’m not sure your bold ego could stand it.”_

_“Oh, bold ego, is it?” He leveled her with a resolute look. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. And I haven’t lied to you – there’s been no one else since I arrived. There hasn’t been anyone else in over a decade.”_

_“But what…,” she struggled for words, not sure how to broach the topic, “but everyone seems to have stories. Or, rumors, at least. About…your reputation.”_

_“Aye, well…I’m sure you can speak to the power of the rumor mill.” His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “Don’t misunderstand me, though – I haven’t stayed celibate for the last decade plus, but I never lied to a woman about my intentions. Even if the women that I…entertained were possessed of different notions – none of them…made me even reconsider, or want a future."_

_The corner of her mouth lifted with understanding and appreciation. “Thank you for being honest with me, and for…well, for owning up to it. The good and the bad. I’m not sure most men would want to admit that.”_

_He wrinkled his nose, a vague tell of disgust. “In truth, I never cared to give it much thought.” He reached for her hand across the table, fixing her with a firm promise. “But now, I only care about proving myself to you.”_

Damn the literature lover in him for knowing exactly what to say.

But then, during dessert, she nearly choked on her tiramisu when he confessed skill at playing the guitar.

_“I don’t believe it.” She shook her head, reaching for her wine. “I can’t picture you on a campus quad, strumming out a ‘Hard Day's Night’....”_

_“I rather favor ‘All Along the Watchtower’.”_

_She snorted. “Hendrix? Now, that’s even more absurd.”_

_“I’ll grant that his version is good - certainly highly popularized - but I much prefer Bob Dylan’s stark, original version.”_

_“No, wait...I…,” she stopped, her brow pinching, “you know, I completely forgot that he did a version…what about, ten years ago?”_

_He laughed gently. “Not quite so long ago.”_

_“But still...Bob Dylan? You...you wear the leather and the eyeliner - honestly, wouldn’t Hendrix be more up your alley?”_

_“Don’t make the man turn over in his grave,” he waved his spoon teasingly, “give credit where credit is due. The Kinks started it all, and spawned so many other brilliant bands - Pink Fairies, Hawkwind, Third World War. Brilliant for what it is, truly.”_

_“I’ve never heard of any of those.”_

_“It’s probably for the better, love. That scene was…dark. Easy to lose one’s way.”_

_Her face softened, knowingly. “And you…lost your way?”_

_“Aye,” he looked down to their shared dessert, “but I’d prefer not to darken such a lovely evening with unpleasant memories. Especially not on a first date.”_

_She nodded. "Alright...fair enough. But just...if - when you're ready to tell me, I'll listen."_

_He met her soft smile. "Aye, love. And I hope you know that offer stands for you, as well. However much of yourself, whenever you're willing to share - I'll be here."_

“Emma.”

She startled from the memory, turning from the binding machine on Zelena’s curt greeting. The redhead stood in the supply room doorway with a pinched expression and a focused stare over her arms laden with manila folders.

“It was you, all this time,” Zelena stepped more into the room, offense coloring her words, “and yet you’ve let me prattle on about him and speculate about others. No wonder you never want to talk about him.”

Emma’s brow pinched with tight confusion. “What are you talking about…?”

“Oh, please. You may be a blonde but playing dumb doesn’t suit you.” The redhead's lips pursed as her green eyes gleamed. "I saw you yesterday. With _him_.”

“Him?” Emma instantly thought back to yesterday – the tour of the VAB, standing in Killian’s arms on Bay Level 5 – but kept her face schooled. “You mean Captain Jones?”

“Of course, Captain Jones. Look at you - playing at propriety when I saw you return with him in the middle of the afternoon. Right in the middle of the workday! So come on, tell me – just between us girls – did you sneak off for some nookie with Captain Hook-ie?”

“Oh, good gracious,” revulsion soured Emma’s face, “no, it wasn’t anything like that. Check the security booth logs – he…we went to the VAB for a tour.”

Dubious bemusement lit in Zelena’s gaze. “You…went to the VAB. For a tour?” She shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “God, that’s terrible. Easily the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. I almost feel bad for you – I’m overcome with this strange urge to help you come up with a better excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. He knew that I was interested in seeing the ship, and he managed to secure a visit before she rolled out for the launchpad. That’s all it was.” She didn’t need to mention the dinner plans they made standing high up in Bay Level 5. Or the lingering kiss he gave her in the elevator before they reached the ground floor. Or how his hand skimmed hers against the car shifter on the way back to the O&C.

“Well, that’s not how it looked when you pulled back up to the O&C,” Zelena’s smile curved with a wicked gleam, “you two made quite the cozy little couple when you arrived in his shiny red car, looking just so smitten.”

“Smitten?” She shook her head. “I am not smitten. Even if it were true, I don’t do…the longing looks and puppy dog eyes.”

“But what about him?” Zelena shrugged her brows with the suggestive question, clearly hoping to get confirmation from Emma’s response.

“Of course not.” Emma looked back to the binding machine, threading the corkscrew spine. “He’s a cocky pirate astronaut, at best, not a lovesick puppy dog.” Nothing about their return to the O&C had given anything away. He’d simply held the car door for her and offered a hand to exit, but there certainly hadn’t been a kiss or embrace to suggest anything beyond a professional relationship. And hadn’t Zelena seen the hard hats that he pulled from the backseat before they entered the building?

“You can deny it all you like, but you’re not fooling me. I have an eye for these things, you know. And speaking of lovesick puppy dogs – have you seen Ruby lately?”

Emma's brow furrowed on the abrupt change of topic. “Ruby? You mean…how she is over Victor?”

“No, not Victor.” Zelena arched a positively scandalous eyebrow. “Dorothy Gale.”

“Zelena, that’s uncalled for,” Emma snapped her gaze over, “Ruby’s inclinations, whatever they may be, are her business. And you shouldn’t spread rumors…especially rumors that could get her – and others – fired.”

“Rumors,” the redhead scoffed, “I’ve half a mind to tell Victor that she’s cheating on him. Wouldn’t that be something!”

“Are you just…so unhappy that you can’t stand to see others happy?”

“Who said I was as pathetic as you?” Zelena arched a brow. “I’m perfectly capable of indulging  _à la carte_ if the mood strikes me.”

“That’s…way more than I cared to know.”

“I swear, there’s something liberating, zesty about it – not being tied to one man if you don’t want to be. Always surprises to be had! Tell me, have any of your lovers ever taken you from behind?”

Emma felt her cheeks burn, baffled by the complete turn of the conversation.  “No…no, I can’t say that I have.”

“Oh, you’d be amazed! It’s so…animalistic.” She winked, lowering her voice to impart a saucy secret. “And it’s so much easier to achieve… _you know_ …in that position.”

“Goodness, Zelena,” Emma scoffed, “first, you accuse me of stepping out with Captain Jones; then, you accuse Ruby of infidelity, and now, you’re imparting bedroom advice?” She shook her head, turning back to the binding machine. “That’s far more than I bargained for this afternoon.”

Zelena laughed a proud, snide sound. “What else are friends for! I simply couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t keep you informed.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one, but hopefully the ending is worth it :) 
> 
> Major kudos and many thanks to each and every one of you!

The whole situation still baffled him. How a bastard like him had become so lucky. How Emma could see him – not just the face he put on for the cameras, but see the hungover, glum side of him – and still want him. It made him think…it made him start to believe that maybe. Just maybe, there might be a chance at lasting happiness with her.

Especially as they grew to know each other better. In the last week, they’d managed to share a few more quiet dinners, steal a few more lingering kisses, and indulge in some less than innocent caresses – but nothing more. It certainly wasn’t for lack of wanting, but good things came to those who waited. Or so, he hoped.

He knew he loved her, but he could read the hesitance, the fear that lurked in her eyes each time they were out together. Like she was just waiting for the bottom to drop out.

But that didn't stop him from playing the huge gamble anyway.

_His fingers interlaced with hers as they crossed up Granny Lucas’ porch steps. “I have something I want to ask you – but, please know that there’s no pressure either way. You’re completely free to answer however you choose.” His tongue darted out to wet his lip, a nervous gesture as he met her curious green eyes. “The Nolans are hosting a barbecue cookout on Saturday for the crew and their families. Robin’s boys aren’t here, so it’ll just be him and Regina. And I…I wanted to ask if you wanted to come…with me.”_

_Her eyes widened, taken aback. “That’s…that’s such a big step. And it – it hasn’t been that long.”_

_“I know, love – and you don’t have to say yes if you’re not comfortable with it.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I understand if you want to keep this between us for now. I just…didn’t want you to find out after the fact and think that I didn’t hold you in high enough regard to even merit an invitation, or didn’t want to be seen with you.”_

_The beginnings of a smile curled the corner of her mouth. “We’ve been to enough dinners that I know you’re not ashamed to be seen with me. Honestly, it’s a miracle no one has made a scene about it.” She shook her head. “But this…this is people that we actually know.”_

_He arched a challenging, teasing brow. “Worried they’ll judge you for succumbing to the charms of a piercing-eyed, smoldering pirate?”_

_“Worried they’ll judge you for a brash, scandalous affair with the office secretary?”_

_“Not at all, love. Nothing brash or scandalous about my intentions towards you.” He raised their conjoined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I simply want you to meet my crew and their wives not as someone who’s there to make coffee or take reports, but as the lovely woman who’s stolen my heart.”_

If only she knew the true extent of it. If only he could profess the true depths of his feelings without risking that she still might run away. Honestly, he couldn’t believe that she had said yes to the cookout. But she had – she had taken this chance with him. And if she gave him another, he would happily dock his heart with her for the rest of his life.

Bloody hell, he’d never fallen so hard, so fast before. His time with Milah had been a heartfelt whirlwind and part of him would always love her. But being with Emma, loving Emma felt…as natural as breathing.

He shook his head, glancing down to his lunch tray, amused with his sappy train of thought. Perhaps he should start believing in true love.

“There it is.” Robin’s teasing voice drew his sidelong gaze as his crewmate’s lunch tray dropped to the table. “That dopey, little smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d report you to medical to test if it’s contagious.”

David’s chuckle joined beside him as he slid into the chair on Killian’s other side. “I don’t think that particular kind of affliction is contagious.”

A grin tugged at Killian’s mouth as he cut another bite of his chicken. “Taken to the gossip? I didn’t realize you’d traded out of the program into a typing pool.”

Robin huffed a laugh, looking over at David as he spread butter on his roll. “Punchy, isn’t he?”

David hummed knowingly around a bite. “Punchy. Angling for the diversion. But he can’t hide it from us.”

“Not that he’s even trying.” 

Killian shook his head, swallowing a mouthful. “No, I take it back – you Navy lads gossip worse than the typing pools.”

Robin let out a barking laugh. “That’s naval aviators to you, airman.” He looked back to David, far too amused. “Punchy. Angling for the diversion. _And_ insulting.”

David shook his head fondly, the tease evident. “I remember my young love days, too.”

Killian cocked a brow. “No, thank you, mate. You and Robin are already married.”

David looked over, eyes alight with amused curiosity. “So, who is she? I’ve known you for several years now but never known you to smile like that. She must be special.”

His mouth tugged to a guilty smile. “Aye, mate. She is. The first one in a long time.”

Robin looked over with a supportive smile. “That’s great. Someone from here?”

Killian nodded through a bite, swallowing before reaching for his napkin. “Someone the both of you know, actually.”

David’s eyes widened. “Well, now I’m even more intrigued.”

He hedged a hesitant glance at his commander. “Actually, I wanted to ask if it was alright by you and Mrs. Nolan if I brought her to the cookout on Saturday.”

Robin’s brows climbed. “Alright, Mr. Punchy-and angling-for-the-diversion – what on earth was that all about when you intended to announce your ladylove on Saturday?”

Killian shrugged with a mischievous air. He would always be a younger brother. “Have to have my fun with you two somehow.”

David smiled good-naturedly, cutting a bite. “I’ll certainly discuss it with Mary Margaret. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Killian fixed him with a strangely serious look. “Miss Swan.”

David’s eyes widened in surprise. “Emma? You’re…you’re serious? Well, that’s…,” his brow furrowed, clouding over in troubled thought as suspicion ate into his gaze, “you know, when we arrived she was dating someone else. She told me about the break-up…but – if you did anything to interfere. To break them apart or push your own agenda – ”

“Good god, man. No.” Killian cut him off firmly, leaving no room for argument. “She made her decisions independent of me. I’m not sure anyone has the ability to influence her decisions, nor should they.”

David’s mouth drew to a tight line, still clearly dubious. “You’ll forgive me, then. I just…I know your reputation.”

He’d only admitted to Emma that it was largely unfounded. The typing pool at the Houston training center had been quite spiteful when his flirting and pet names hadn’t yielded a single date – he preferred more discretion than that. He supposed frustration got the better of them, but he never broke up someone’s relationship or marriage. Well, not since moving stateside, anyway. Slowly, though, he nodded. “Aye, I can see how that would concern you. But you saw me just now – and you said it yourself – in all the years you’ve known me, no other woman has meant to me what she does.”

“Which is why you will listen to me.” David’s tone commanded full authority. “Tread carefully. With her especially, it is not all about you. You will respect what she wants, no matter how much you might want something different. In fact,” his face brightened as if he’d just thought of a great idea, “treat her as if she were my own daughter.”

Killian could already hear her balking at the sentiment. She surely wouldn’t appreciate David stepping in as a noble knight to defend her honor. Certainly not when she was more than capable of defending it herself. But he could understand what David meant. His lips curled to a wry smile. “Don’t I know it, mate. The fearsome Lady Swan is not to be trifled with. And whatever we are - whatever we become - it's as much up to her as it is to me."

* * *

Goodness, how was it Saturday already? Butterflies lit in her stomach as Killian’s car cruised to a stop at the curb. She shouldn’t be nervous. There was no call for it – she knew everyone who would be at the Nolans' house this evening. But this was entirely different. She wasn’t here as Director Midas’ secretary. She was here with Killian – as his…well, they were together.

It sounded silly even in her own mind, but seeing as they’d never been public about their relationship until now, there hadn’t been a need to define what they were. Maybe there still wasn’t. And that suited her fine. What she had with Killian was good as it stood independent of labels. Actually - if she was being honest - it was better than good. It was by far and away the best she’d ever had in her life.

All that already, and they hadn’t even gone to bed together yet.

The thought made her blush as she smoothed her pale green skirt, taking Killian’s hand. With jello salad balanced in the other hand, she stepped out of his car. “Thank you.” Her face lit with a smile to match his as he closed the car door.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he said softly, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze, “no need to be nervous.”

“Sure, of course not.” But she could see it in his eyes, too. The nervous excitement about stepping out together - officially - even if this was just a Saturday barbecue at the Nolans’ house. But being here, together - it made her heart skip a beat and a well of happiness open in her chest.

She fell into step beside him as they crossed up the walk into the shade of the porch. He looked smart in dark trousers and a light-colored polo shirt, and she again reached for her skirt, brushing out non-existent wrinkles. He caught her nervous gesture with a reassuring smile as he rang the bell.

The door opened to Mary Margaret’s wide, giddy smile. “Hello, welcome!” She ushered them in with warm graciousness, closing the door. “David and I are so happy to have you - both of you - here.”

“Thank you for having us,” Killian’s smile widened with polite charm, “you are always a most generous hostess.”

“Yes, thank you.” Emma added with a soft smile, hefting her jello said. “Though, we didn’t come empty handed.”

“You are more than welcome. And that looks delicious! Please make yourselves at home.” She gestured wide around the living room before resting a hand to her swollen belly. “David and Robin are outside valiantly trying to light the charcoal. I do hope that you’re able to help them, Killian, before they singe off their eyebrows.”

An edge of mischief lit in Killian’s eyes. “Well, certainly can’t let them have all the fun.” His gaze slid from Mary Margaret to Emma. “I’ll see you in a little while.” He winked before stepping away towards the patio door.

Mary Margaret rounded on her with wide, flabbergasted eyes as the patio door slid closed. “Emma! Why didn’t you tell me about you and Killian?! I thought...I thought you and Walsh…”

“Yes, well, he thought so, too,” Emma started awkwardly, “even to the point where it didn’t matter what I thought.”

“I would say that I’m sorry to hear it but you don’t sound all that heartbroken. Or look it. In fact,” she smiled with a playful smile, “I’d say that you look over the moon about a certain British astronaut, and so much happier.”

Emma couldn’t hold back the smile that threatened to burst. “This time?...I really think I am.”

Mary Margaret let out a delighted laugh as she turned for the kitchen. “I’m so happy for you! And him! You know - he came to several dinners in Houston but he never once brought someone.” They rounded the door frame into the kitchen where Regina Mills stood, washing tomatoes. “And, according to David, he had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man, but he must truly love you to introduce you to us like this.”

“Well, we’ll...we’ll see.” Emma looked down to the dish in her hand. “Is there room in your fridge? And, please, what can I do to help?”

Regina looked up from the sink, drying her hands on a towel. “You can slice these tomatoes, if you want. My dishpan hands need a rest.”

Emma nodded at the regal, dark-haired woman as Mary Margaret took the jello salad. “Hello, Mrs. Mills.”

“Please,” the picture-perfect woman said with a tight smirk, “it’s Regina. Mary Margaret insists.”

“Yes, I do,” Mary Margaret turned from the fridge with a warm, commanding smile, “if Emma’s going through this journey with Killian, then just like our men - we, too, will need to stick together. There’s about to be an awful lot of miles and time delays and space between us and them  - and even when things are going well, it can still be tough.” She stepped up, wrapping her arm around Emma’s. “So, Emma’s an honorary member of the club.”

A hint of genuine warmth tugged at the corner of Regina’s mouth as she nodded slowly. “Welcome to the club.”

Emma nodded back, not sure if she should say thank you or not. She honestly wasn’t looking for support or someone to talk to about it all. There hadn’t been anyone in her life that she could look to for support. But she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t a comforting thought.

Mary Margaret let go of her arm, stepping up to a cabinet and fishing out a platter. “Well, I want to hear all the details about you and Killian! The first date - was it dinner? Or a movie?” She winked mischievously. “Was there a goodnight kiss?”

Regina turned with an obvious eye roll. “For the record, we don’t need to hear all the details.”

Emma stepped up to the counter, eyeing the cutting board, knife and freshly washed tomatoes. “Well, it...it was unexpected. But he was amusing and understanding,” she huffed a light laugh, recalling his words, “ a gentleman.”

“That’s wonderful!” Mary Margaret gushed, setting the platter next to the cutting board. “And, of course, don’t forget handsome - with those eyes! I mean, my goodness.”

“Why are you pregnant and I’m the one who’s sick?” Regina said over her shoulder as she took a sip of lemonade.

“Oh, come on, Regina,” Mary Margaret lightly admonished, “it’s young love! Full of all those happy butterflies and sugary, sweet moments. Surely, you remember how you felt in your young love days with Robin.”

The warmth of distant memories softened Regina's gaze. “I remember them perfectly. But I prefer to keep those memories just for me and him. If Emma doesn’t want to share, then she shouldn’t have to.”

Emma drew a breath to answer, distracted as a distant whooping holler sounded from the backyard. With wide eyes, Regina spun around to look out the kitchen window as Mary Margaret and Emma looked on with curious, concerned glances.

“Is everyone alright, Regina?” Mary Margaret asked as the other woman gave a disgusted shake of her long hair.

“Well, no one's on fire despite the burning plume that just erupted from the grill.”

“The what?!” Mary Margaret blanched, looking towards Emma. “Maybe I shouldn't have sent Killian out there.”

“Maybe not.” Emma laughed softly, gathering the sliced tomatoes together on the board to place them on the platter.

“What's next?” Regina asked, walking to the fridge. “The lettuce?”

“I think so. We can get the burger toppings all laid out and put the platter in the fridge if we need to. If the boys haven't burned us all down, that is.”

Regina scoffed. “They're fine. And if they do set us on fire, then they can display the teamwork that'll take them to the moon and back by putting it out.”

“You know, there are days that I just cannot believe it - that David will get to walk on the moon.” Mary Margaret shot a causally curious glance to Emma. “How’s...uh, how's Killian handling that? Knowing that he won't be joining them on the lunar surface?”

“Oh my God,” Regina groaned, “did you really ask that question? It's not enough that you're married to Prince Charming, the Golden boy astronaut, with a little Charming on the way but you have to remind everyone else that their own stories don't have quite the happy ending that yours does?”

“Goodness, no,” Mary Margaret's brow pinched with offense, “it's a question born of genuine concern. I mean, Killian has been training just as hard as David and Robin, and he'll just be left behind in orbit for three whole days by himself while they go down to the lunar surface. If that's not enough to make a man a little bitter and upset, then I don't know what is.”

Emma looked over with an uncertain smile. “No, well - at least, he hasn’t said anything. Honestly, he’s riding high enough with the distinctions he already has...I don’t think he’s thinking of it like that. And certainly not...I mean, why would anyone have a reason to sabotage a mission like this? Especially not when his life is just at risk as David and Robin’s.” She could feel her cheeks flushing as she finished her rambling answer, stunned at the thought and implication. The question shouldn’t even come up - if NASA had somehow missed that he harbored a grudge against his crewmates for going down to the lunar surface, then the whole space program needed a serious overhaul.

The patio door opened, footsteps on the linoleum floor. “Hello, ladies,” Robin’s pleasant voice announced his arrival in the kitchen, “we’re nearly ready for the meat but David was looking for some foil?”

“Oh yes,” Mary Margaret turned for a drawer, “I forgot to get it for him earlier. And we’ll have the meat ready soon.”

“Thank you.” He took the box of foil and stepped over to the fridge.

Regina sent him a soft smile even as she raised a mock-irritated brow. “Glad to see you still have your hair.”

“Of course,” he righted from the fridge, two beers in his hand, “we’re professionals.”

Regina scoffed, shaking her head as her husband stepped away back towards the living room.

Mary Margaret directed Regina to the fridge, starting to season and fashion the burger patties, and launched into a torrent of questions about Regina’s boys. The change in conversation topic made Emma smile. She didn’t really want to answer anymore questions about Killian’s feelings on the mission. It wasn’t something they had talked about - at least, not beyond that question about what scared him when they were in the VAB, looking at his ship.

Regina patiently answered Mary Margaret’s questions as the pile of meat patties grew until David entered the kitchen, brandishing his grill spatula and smiling wide. With a playful scold and kiss from his wife, he left with the platter of meat and Emma turned for the fridge to finish assembling the condiment tray. The whole scene warmed her heart. It felt like a group of real friends...almost like family. Even Regina’s cool demeanor started to thaw the more that Emma was around her. It was easy to laugh along, easy to comment on the conversation, and even easier to know that she owed Killian more thanks than she could ever express for including her.

“Alright, not much longer now!” Mary Margaret gushed as she re-entered the kitchen. “The burgers are smelling great, and David said we could start carrying dishes out.”

Regina turned for the fridge, pulling out Emma’s jello salad and a tupperware container of unknown contents. “Here,” she handed it over to Emma, “this can be dished into a serving bowl.”  

Emma took the container and stepped over to where Mary Margaret directed her. Sure enough, she had her choice of ceramic bowls and made her selection.

“Ok, I’ve got the condiment tray, and Regina - if you can bring the plates, napkins and the jello?” Mary Margaret balanced the tray as she headed back to the patio door. “I can get the door.”

The two women disappeared outside, leaving the peaceful silence of the kitchen broken only by the happy chirping of the radio. Emma pulled back the lid on the tupperware container, the smell of potato salad filling her nose. She tipped the container against the ceramic dish, humming and singing along to the radio as she distantly heard the patio door open. “ _Ride, captain, ride. On your way to a world that others might have missed_ ….”

“Someone’s singing my song.” Killian’s velvety voice made her smile as he stepped in close behind her. He nuzzled her cheek, lips drifting to the shell of her ear. “And something smells delicious….” The gust of his breath and the low, suggestive rumble in his voice rushed a bolt of heat down her spine.

She scoffed softly, leaning into his embrace. “It’s just potato salad.”

“I wasn’t talking about the potato salad.”

She couldn’t help but preen, biting her lip to reign in a giddy smile, wanting only to turn and kiss him, but all too aware than anyone else could walk into the kitchen. Instead, she pulled back just far enough to meet his mesmerizing eyes that brimmed with unbridled happiness. A light sigh pushed from her lips, making his brow furrow.

“What?” He asked softly.

She shrugged, her face tensing with an edge of hesitance. “I’m just...happy. It surprises me.”

The most lovestruck smile warmed his face. “I know,” he sounded just as blown away from the realization, “me, too. You’ve brought me such unexpected happiness that I haven’t known in an age, and I….,” he paused, his gaze sharpening with a realization, “...and I...should get those beers, now.”

Her heart stopped as he moved for the fridge. Was...what was he going to say? Was he going to tell her that he...loved her? Until that moment, she didn’t realize how much she wanted to hear him say it. But, goodness, if he said it, was she ready to say it in return? The thought terrified her. It hadn’t even been two weeks, but she  wanted to offer him everything. It shouldn’t make sense - she had eight months with Walsh but nothing between them had ever felt like this. Felt so right.

She had to ask. “What...what were you going to say? Just now….”

He closed the fridge door, eyes twinkling as his mouth curled with a secretive smile. “I’ll tell you later. I promise.”

She instantly recalled the moment in Bay Level 5 when he made a similar promise. She fixed him with a playful glare. “That’s two promises you owe me.”

He arched a brow, so distinctive and oddly distinguished. “And Captain Hook never breaks a promise.”

The patio door slid open, Mary Margaret and Regina’s voices filtering in.

Moving quickly, he brushed a kiss to her cheek as he stepped by her just in time for the other two women to enter. Of course, Mary Margaret didn’t let him leave without a thorough accusation of pitching woo to Emma in her kitchen. His feigned innocence fooled no one, and soon they were all outside - Emma setting the potato salad to the middle of the table as she took her seat next to Killian. Regina and Robin sat opposite them, with David and Mary Margaret at the table heads. The late evening sun cast a warm, cheery glow on the spread of delicious food and jovial smiles. And when David stood to raise a toast - to the success of the mission, to the camaraderie of the crew, and the women who empower them to be their best selves - Emma couldn’t remember a more perfect evening.

 

A perfect evening that threatened to end all too soon. Killian closed the car door after her and she couldn’t stop basking in the warm, relaxing glow of the night. The last thing she wanted to do was go back to her empty bed at Granny Lucas’. Not when he was here. Not when he was _so_ close.

His door closed behind him as he glanced over to her with a tentative look. “Shall I...take you back?” His eyes burned with a whole different question, but his tone conveyed model patience.

It only made her heart beat faster. “No...at least, not yet.” The words made her cheeks flush, watching his face threaten to break out in a blinding smile, warring with a hesitant edge of restraint.

“Emma...I know what I feel for you but I will willingly wait until you make that decision for yourself. Because if this… _night_ goes forward, I don’t think I can come back from it. Or you." The earnest light in his brilliant blue eyes stole her breath. "And if you’re unsure to trust me with your heart, then...I’d rather just settle for a lengthy goodnight kiss until you are.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Of course, I trust you - I want nothing more. But...everyone I’ve ever been with turns and leaves - my first love, Walsh...and I...I can’t lose you, too.”

He smiled at her as if it was the easiest answer in the world. “Well, love, you don’t have to worry about me. I…,” he sighed softly, “I have carried the weight of my first love since I lost her. I never thought I’d be capable of letting her go. Capable of believing that I could find someone else. That is, until I met you.” A hopeful smile bloomed at the edge of his mouth. “Say the word, and I’ll never let you go. Otherwise, I will respect your wishes.”

She exhaled nervous butterflies, tears still fresh as she reached a hand across the seat to find his. “I don’t have words anywhere near as...eloquent as that. But, I want...to take this chance.” Her fingers interlaced with his, squeezing gently. “Together.”

His smile widened with relief, exhaling an equally shaky breath. “Together.”

Her smile exploded to feel him return her hand hold. “I...I can’t promise I’ll get it right, but...I do promise not to run. At least, not without telling you first.”

“That’s more than I’d ask for, love.” He raised their conjoined hands, brushing his lips against her skin. “At least, for right now. We don’t have to sort it all out now, but you’ve given me more than I could bloody well hope for.”

“Well,” her smile curled with a coy, seductive edge, “the night’s not over yet.”

He pressed another kiss to her hand, reaching to turn the key in the ignition with the other. “Then, we should leave before David and Mary Margaret feel the need to come investigate.”

She simmered with anxious excitement the whole drive, not helped as he continued to hold her hand. His thumb swept absently against her skin, shooting sparks up her arm and into her blood. Especially as he drove past the turn to Granny’s Boarding House and continued towards his neighborhood.  

Her feet barely touched the sidewalk as they moved through the dark night up to his porch and into the interior of his spartan living room. Her heart raced as she glanced around. It didn’t look any homier bathed in the soft, yellow lamplight than the last time she saw it, and it did nothing to ease her mounting apprehension. Yes, she wanted to be here; yes, she, wanted him. Loved him. But just standing here with the rest of the night ahead of them? She’d never felt so exhilarated before, and so...unsure how to act in this moment. Would there be more sweeping declarations of affection? Or perhaps, a nightcap? Or would he just start kissing her senseless and wrap her up?  

The radio crackled to life across the room.

“ _...song for all you late night lovebirds out there. This lovely Rose found her ‘Angel Baby’ and here’s hoping you’ve found yours…_ ”

The slow doo-wop song filled the small space, coaxing a smile to her face. Especially when those forget-me-not blue eyes connected with hers as he threaded around the couch, erasing the space between them. His warm hand found hers, gently interlacing their fingers as he lifted to shoulder height. Her nose brushed his cheek, sighing into the contact as their bodies started to sway, her anxiety melting away.

**It's just like heaven being here with you** ****  
**You're like an angel, too good to be true** ****  
**But after all, I love you, I do** **  
** **Angel baby, my angel baby**

Tears wet her eyes as she continued to abandon herself to the moment. To the soft music. To the feel of his chest brushing hers, the warmth of his breath on her skin. A smoldering heat ignited between them, catching her blood on fire and making her knees weak. Her other hand rose to grasp his shoulder, pulling him just that much closer and anchoring herself to him.

Nothing could tear her from him right now. No - ever. She never wanted to leave him.

They were too close for her to see his eyes. To know if he was as far gone as she was. As in over her head and drowning in the crushing gravity of his presence as they moved together.

**Oh, I love you, oh I do** **  
** **No one could love you like I do**

"I love you, Emma - I just can't...keep it to myself anymore." He sighed gently. "I wanted to tell you in the Nolans' kitchen earlier, but didn't want you to feel pressu-" 

"I love you, too, Killian." Her heart felt so light, her body singing. "I love you, I do - so much." 

Nothing felt more natural - more _right_ \- as their heads tilted, lips connecting to spark a slow, sensuous, lingering kiss. He tasted of the distant chocolate dessert and spiced rum as she chased it on his tongue. A moan spilled high in her throat when his hand splayed wide across the small of her back, pressing her flush against him.

She dissolved in the heated slide of their mouths, in the gentle rocking of their hips, in the greedy hold they had on each other. In the burning desire that consumed them both.

The hand on her back dragged down the swell of her backside, pressing her skirt to her thigh with silent urging. It was an invitation she easily accepted, lifting her leg to let him coax it around him. Her muscles stretched as her body bowed against him, her molten core pressed solidly where his hardness strained for her. The taught sensation pulled a whimper from her, answered by his delicious groan that she eagerly swallowed.

A startled, giggling gasp left her as he suddenly swept her up. Her hand broke from their hold to wrap around his neck, holding on tight as he gathered her other leg, encouraging her to wrap them around his waist. Her heart slammed in her chest, sighing her approval into his mouth as he walked them down the hallway towards his bedroom.

Faint light filtered in the window, providing just enough to take in the intense desire and love that burned in his crystalline eyes. Electric sparks ran down her spine to know that he was so wrecked and lost because of _her_. That he wanted _her._ He loved _her._

The power of that knowledge, coupled with the cool press of the bedcovers drew a whimper from her throat, and suddenly, they needed to be closer. His hands skimmed along her pantyhose, the buttons of her dress. The buttons of his shirt and the catch of his trousers fell away just as easily, minus some shuffling to rid themselves of their pesky shoes.

She’d long suspected that he was a stunning specimen, but _holy goodness_ \- seeing him in his full glory put every fantasy to shame. His fingers were wicked, his mouth sinful, and the press of his body consuming. She’d never felt more safe, more loved, more precious in the most wonderful form of torture as his tongue worked her over, fingers plunging deep until she sobbed with a whole new purpose.

“So beautiful, so  _wet_ for me, love.” His voice pitched low with heady desire as his fingers continued their masterful strokes. “Come for me, Emma, love. Let me hear it. Let me taste it.” His tongue returned to its former business of making her see stars as her hands clenched in oh-so touchable hair. When the deep curl of his fingers and the sucking pressure of his mouth launched her into lunar orbit, she didn’t recognize the sound that tore from her throat. The sound of a woman undone, the sound of complete surrender.

Surely, her heart would burst. It raced so fast in her chest as he stroked her through the aftershocks, decorating her thigh with whisper-thin kisses. She could feel the tremble in his shoulders, in the abortive thrusts of his hips against the mattress.

“Bloody hell, love...you’re exquisite.”

Her face split with a wide, dazed grin as he hovered above her. The outside light caught in his burning glacial eyes, in the splay of tousled dark hair, on the criminal cut of his strong jaw - and she’d never been more over the moon in love. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

She welcomed his kiss without hesitation, tasting the distant tang of herself on his tongue. It only made her want to wrap him up and never let him go. It happened so fast - but still took too damn long before he fit his body to hers, precautions in place, mouths plundering the other when he finally, _finally_ eased inside her. The heavenly stretch, the heart-stopping connection stole her breath and she struggled to watch the pleasure play out across his face through her own mind-numbing ecstasy. His movements started slow - a teasing, achingly tender slide that had tears prickle her eyes as she moaned his name in his ear.

“Say it again, love.”

“Please... _Killian_!”

The growl in his throat shook her to the core and she wrapped her body around him, willing to go wherever he lead. All pretense of finesse fell away as the building rhythm of their bodies demanded so much more. Her cries pitched urgently as his increased pace drew a kindred response, building to an inescapable eruption that came all too soon. The muscles of her body seized around him as she cried out her second wave of release, riding and drowning in the full stroke of him. His own grunting groan of completion followed and she welcomed his weight when a trembling forearm threatened to give.

His heart pounded in his chest, a physical force against hers. Her fingers danced along the fine sheen of moisture that decorated his spine as she came back down to Earth, basking in everything about him. In the salty, spicy scent of him. In the hot press of his strong, lithe body. In the feeling of completion she’d never known with another man.

It should terrify her. It should make her want to run far away.

Instead, she curled up in his embrace, only parting from him when shared passion turned to tacky discomfort that demanded care. The full length of his body pressed tight against her under the thin sheet felt too good to be true.

“I love you, Emma Swan. So _bloody_ much.” The words pressed reverently to her skin and she didn’t hesitate.

“And I love you, Killian.”

Sleep fuzzed the corners of her mind as they hovered on the edge of wakefulness, the radio still playing gently from the living room.

**Just what the truth is  
** **I can't say any more  
** **'Cause I love you  
** **Yes I love you  
** **Oh how I love you**


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With blood work and ex-boyfriends, secrets abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. A quick holiday with my own Killian Jones and celebration of the Apollo 10 anniversary occupied more time than anticipated.  
> And I have added more chapters since my initial statement on mission launch...T-minus 2 (or 3) chapters now until launch, cause really...how long is too long for a chapter ha. 
> 
> Cheers, and thank you for all your support!

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The line from serial American westerns sounded cheesy even in his own head, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Since surrendering David’s file, there had been nothing. No more letters. No more veiled threats.

By all accounts, Killian had done just what Gold asked and Gold had kept his word.

And still, nothing had happened. Everyday was business as usual for pre-launch preparations. Daily briefings were conducted with increasing expediency. Schedules adhered to with clockwork precision. And still, nothing.

Stagnation bred complacency, right? And with every passing day that nothing happened, Killian felt himself begin to wonder. Had Gold been lying to him? Was he actually going to use David’s medical records, or was he just torturing Killian by making him go through the motions? Not that this would be the first time, but Gold just wasn’t that petty.

No, the man had something planned – and these days of quiet normal routine were being allowed on purpose. That thought warred constantly with the voice that whispered to Killian of overreacting to the situation and the overwhelming desire to lose himself in his time with Emma.

He watched the vial fill with his blood against the crook of his arm. Every two weeks, this had been the same routine. Draw blood, analyze and chart the results. All the better to establish a baseline, the tech explained two months ago. Not that they would be able to draw blood or do any analysis aboard the CSM after launch, but after splashdown, the resulting changes in chemistry would tell the medical team a lot.

A thought hit him and he glanced up at the med tech. “Have you noticed any changes these past months? In my blood chemistry?”

The corner of the tech’s mouth lifted. “No changes worth noting, captain. There are minor changes each time we draw your blood, but everything has been well within the normal ranges. Each mission – each astronaut – gives us a unique opportunity to study the effects of life in space.”

“Just a glorified lab rat, hmmm?”

The tech laughed softly. “I suppose you could say that. With your baseline established and post-mission analysis, we can better support future missions - plan calories and vitamins, study the effects of zero-g life on organ function. Study how well your kidneys and liver have worked up there.”

Killian winced as the needle jostled in his arm when the tech removed the first vial. “Couldn’t you – in theory – also use that knowledge to tweak the blood chemistry? If you know how well our organs are functioning, couldn’t you then devise something to improve - or impair - their function?”

“Fear not, captain. No one has the desire to see you go into diabetic shock from artificially inflated glucose levels, or kidney failure from vitamin overdose.”

Killian furrowed his brow. “But it would be possible?”

“Of course, it’s possible. Doctors use blood work to monitor and adjust medication dosages, gauge treatment and help prevent overdoses. Once the chemistry is known, it can be altered.”

“Would…would the effects happen all at once? Or slowly over time?”

The tech shook his head with a wry smile as a second vial of blood filled against Killian's arm. “It would depend what it was. Again, if you know the subject – there are always ways. Not that you need to worry about that, captain. That’s…that’s not our goal here.”

Killian hummed quietly. “Well, glad to know I’ve placed my life in good hands.”

The tech slid the needle free and sent him on his way with the customary bandage. As he walked away, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his mind. Did it sound too suspicious? Had he overplayed his hand? He wasn’t a medical man, so why should he suddenly take interest in knowing how blood chemistry can be altered?

But the conversation certainly gave him food for thought.

In theory, he supposed, it didn’t matter what aspect of David’s blood chemistry Gold’s people tampered with, there would be a physical response. But would it just incapacitate him? Or was the goal to murder him? To bring about America’s first death in space?

That would certainly be a headline grabber.

_David Nolan will not reach the moon._

The more he thought about it, the more it turned Killian’s stomach to think that Gold’s people might already be tampering with David. Maybe they already charted responses to various alterations and used the pre-mission vaccination schedule as an excuse here on the ground. But once they were up in the CSM, what then would they turn to? Once in space, he would share the exact same environment with David and Robin. How was Gold planning to only incapacitate David? That ruled out obvious choices like the oxygen supply or the water system. It left Killian with one answer: food. They were going to tamper with David’s food.

Killian could already see the meal pouches labeled with names in his mind’s eye.

Poison seemed far too obvious, but from what he learned from the med tech, it could be anything.  

Pre-mission quarantine was just seven days away now. He had to learn more. He just _had_ to.

* * *

_“_ _Well, you have my sympathies. I don’t think I could work professionally with a man after rejecting his marriage proposal.”_

Ruby’s words always echoed in Emma’s mind every time she needed to interact with Walsh. Yes, she was a professional adult but there was just something about making eye contact with a man who used to look at her with such love. But now, his glances only conveyed cold detachment. It helped, but still. Emma always found it tedious.

She knocked quietly on his office, hearing his voice from within. With a polite smile, she pushed the door open. “Afternoon, Walsh.”

“Good afternoon, Emma.” He looked up with a tight smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m just here to drop off the director’s remarks for the newspaper pieces.” She held out the folder towards him, watching him rise from his desk and come around.

“Thank you. We’ll give it the usual treatment before publication.”

She nodded gently. “I didn’t doubt that you would.”

The overhead fluorescent light buzzed in the pregnant silence as he took the folder. He looked up to her, gaze heavy with unspoken words. Her feet instantly itched to retreat and with no other business left, well, it was time to leave.

With another nod of her head, more a release of awkward nerves than anything, she pulled her lips to her practiced smile. “Well, have a good rest of the day. If you can’t read the director’s chicken scratch, please reach out.” She turned to go.

“Emma, wait - please.”

Her stomach sunk with dread but she stopped, glancing back at him tentatively.

“Emma, I’m sorry, but I…,” he shook his head, looking at her with obvious conviction, “I just can’t stay silent. I recognized your car at the drive-in movie on Saturday. And I saw you with your date….” The tips of his ears turned red as he shook his head again. “You shouldn't let any man treat you like that...it’s downright disrespectful.”

 

_“Mmm," Killian purred, "I’m beginning to think my lady has a rather skilled talent at reducing me to an unruly scallywag who will stop at nothing until we’re snogging in this car like teenagers.”_

_She chuckled with a playful tease, running her fingers over the stiffening length of him beneath his dark jeans._

_A woman’s terrified scream sounded over the movie’s in-car speaker accompanied by dramatic music, but she paid no attention as his mouth found hers, thoroughly plundering. She met his advance with a breathy moan, opening her mouth to taste the strawberry of their milkshake on his tongue. Her hand drifted up from between his legs to wrap around the warm leather of his jacket, shifting closer._

_He rumbled his approval, sliding an arm around her waist to tug her closer against him. His lips danced down her jaw to her neck, pulling a high-pitched whine from her when he nipped a sensitive spot. She nuzzled her encouragement against his cheek, closing her lips around the stud on his earlobe._

_“God, love…,” he groaned, breath hot, “what I wouldn’t give to be somewhere less public right now.”_

_She pressed a gentle kiss to the earring. “Too bad you have to wait.”_

_“I think you mean too bad for you,” he shifted, wrapping his other arm around her midsection to turn and tuck her back against his chest. She settled into him, reveling in the hold of his arms around her stomach and the warmth of his strong body. “Because now I can keep a much closer watch on those roving hands of yours.”_

_“Mm, you like my roving hands.”_

_“That I do, love,” his words floated against her cheek, bringing a smile to her face as she looked back to the movie screen, “but first, there’s the girl to rescue, the martians to be stopped, and a planet to save.”_

 

She stared back at Walsh, offense flaring as her eyes narrowed. “You...you were that close?” Another thought dawned. Had he recognized Killian under the leather, eyeliner and tousled hair in the dark shadows? Goodness, what would Walsh think about that?

Walsh sighed gently. “I didn’t plan it intentionally. But once I saw that you weren’t alone...and saw him….,” he fixed her with a firm look, “you deserve so much more than that. You deserve a real man who will treat you with respect, not some _punk_ in a leather jacket. You should be courted and wooed, not...necked at a drive-in.”

Her mouth opened, aghast as anger blazed in her eyes. “How dare you. It is _not_ your business who I see personally. Did you even stop to consider that maybe I asked for his attentions like that? That maybe I wanted to be necked at a drive-in?” She felt her cheeks flush on such an intimate topic. “I’m not some fragile princess, Walsh. I never have been, and...I’m sorry if you never realized that.”

Maybe that’s why being with Walsh never felt right. He wanted the proper courtship, the picture-perfect marriage, the model home life. He hadn’t once showed her that he wanted her for her spirit, wanted her as a hot-blooded woman.

But Killian wanted her for all of that - and more.

Walsh stared back at her, seemingly lost for words but unable to hide the jealous sting of loss in his eyes.

She broke from his gaze, turning for the door with a sigh. “I have to go, and please...if you see me out on another date again, please don’t...watch us or mention it. Ever. I’m a big girl and more than capable of looking out for myself.”

She closed his office door behind her, not wanting to hear anything else that he might have to say. She sure as hell didn’t need a valiant knight in her life to defend and support her. But she allowed the exception - _especially_ when said knight wore leather and necked her at the drive-in.

And if Walsh couldn’t understand that, well. It was already his loss.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes rise higher with 72 hrs before the start of pre-mission quarantine.

A second envelope arrived, just as innocuous as the first. Except this time, he hadn’t just exited the simulator. This time, the letter found him during an afternoon briefing on last-minute updates to the guidance computer and he nearly choked on his tea. The rest of the briefing had been heart-stopping torture as he quickly shuffled it to the bottom of his other letters and struggled to pay attention to the rest of the discussion.

When he finally got a moment to himself, his jaw clenched tight as he tore into it. Two photographs spilled out along with the weighty card stock.

_Don’t get cute with your questions, captain. Don’t play the hero._  
_A pirate never risks his most precious treasure._

The photographs were simple enough. The first was a well-angled shot in the VAB, capturing a perfect glimpse of him and Emma high up on Bay Level 5. His arms looped about her waist as he nuzzled her cheek under the bulk of their hard hats. The smiles on both of their faces spoke to more mutual love and happiness than either had dared voice that afternoon. But the longer he stared at it, the longer he couldn’t deny the obvious truth of it.

The obvious truth that Gold, of course, had no trouble reading, too.

The second photograph was even simpler. An image of Emma, sunlight playing in her blonde curls as she exited her car outside Granny Lucas’ Boarding House for Ladies.

The threat sunk in Killian’s stomach like lead.

How had Gold’s men even followed them into the VAB? Had all of Killian and Emma’s movements been watched and photographed? Bloody hell, was the medical tech working for Gold? Or had someone else reported his innocent-not-so-innocent questioning during his blood draw?

Could he prove it? Could he prove it before something happened to Emma?

Was anywhere safe from Gold?

And with quarantine only three days away - would he even know if Emma was safe?

The torrent of thoughts battered his brain in a ceaseless storm. Especially now that the day was over and he wouldn’t be able to see Emma until after the cocktail reception tomorrow evening. Perhaps that’s why the speed, the aimless direction, the howling wind, the adrenaline rush agreed with him right now. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he accelerated down the highway.

It would probably be a miracle if he didn’t get a speeding ticket, but he really didn’t give a damn. There were far more important things.

He knew what he should do. He knew what he should have done from the very moment he received the crocodile’s first letter.

And he could still do it - he could tell David. He could tell David and Robin, for that matter. But to what end? The minute they changed anything, deviated from the normal operational parameters – Gold’s people would know. And bloody hell, he just…he couldn’t risk Emma’s life like that.

He could already hear her berating him in his mind. How she’d tell him to let her make her own decisions. That they could solve this – together. That he should trust her, and that she didn’t need him to save her.

Even in his head, she wasn’t entirely wrong. But if Gold’s people were watching them both inside and outside of KSC, then could he risk telling her? Could he even trust the privacy of his own bedroom? Would he even be able to identify a listening device if he saw it?

He pressed harder on the gas pedal, trying to leave that sickening thought in the dust.

No, he recognized this situation for what it was. Just as he’d been powerless to save Milah, Gold wanted him equally powerless to save David. The sick bastard had said he would take the twins out of his crosshairs, but dammit if he hadn’t found another angle to leverage. Assuming, of course, he kept his word about the kids in the first place.

But Killian couldn’t do it. He just couldn't. Sure, it sounded like a coward's answer but he’d rather die first than risk the twins or Emma. And if that’s what he had to do once they were up there...if he had to forcibly take David's food - if it did indeed prove to be the food - then hopefully. Hopefully, that would be it.

He could live with that. A fitting end to a life that he'd never felt deserving of. Perhaps it might earn him a chance at redemption, but he would leave that to everyone else to decide. And Emma? Well, he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And after the reception tomorrow evening - they would have all weekend to make every minute count until quarantine started Monday morning. 

At the very least, he mused, there were already such risks with space travel. Surely, Emma knew that. So what was it for him to take one more?

* * *

Emma could just make out the gentle bossa nova tune in the background over the low din of the cocktail reception. Launch command officials mixed with senators, cabinet officers chatted up political society wives, and the Apollo 19 prime crew astronauts soared as the stars of the evening.

It was the typical party – the official well-wishing, glad-handing send-off for the crew before starting pre-mission quarantine. Camera bulbs flashed bright, interrupting the soft golden glow that lit the reception room, as everyone of importance wanted a photo with at least one of the three heroes. And they certainly looked like heroes tonight.

All three of them were decked out in their pristine dress uniforms with not a hair out of place. Mary Margaret and David Nolan made quite the perfect, wholesome American couple as they mingled, her infectious laughter floating above the crowd at random intervals. Regina and Robin Mills conversed, regal and refined, through the crowd, ever the picture of dignified elegance. And Killian? Well….

Emma sipped at her gimlet, eyes straying yet again to her astronaut. He looked delectable, all buttoned-up and polished, radiating personable swagger and charm as he moved with the reception’s flow. She’d never seen him in his official uniform before, and she had to admit he wore it well. Though, he wore the leather jacket, earring and eyeliner better.

She took another drink, trying to cool the heat in her blood. Never before had the cocktail send-off reception been so distracting. Usually, it was simple – oversee the food trays, ensure the cocktails flowed, and ashtrays were emptied. She’d never had to contend with such a handsome distraction – especially when she knew how said-handsome distraction sounded as he drove himself inside her.

Her lips curled to a secretive smile as she watched the reception drift around her. After taking a quick pass by the hors d'oeuvres table, she resumed her position on the peripheral, observing - doing her job. Her lips touched the rim of her gimlet glass just as those forget-me-not blues found her. A warm flutter rippled through her, watching as he threaded his way over, the sounds of gentle conversation and soft saxophone drifting through the air.

He tapped a thickset ring - it looked like a college class ring - against the highball he carried with an admonishing edge as his lips teased to a grin. “You’re lucky no one else is as observant as me, love. You’ve barely taken your eyes off me all evening.”

Her smile sharpened with a warm, teasing edge in return. “I knew you’d despair if I did.”

He hummed softly. “When you’re dressed like that? Absolutely bloody right.”

She preened under the compliment - her sleeveless, black empire waist and column skirt dress was the nicest she owned and she knew exactly how it complimented her figure. Especially when paired with pearls and her hair swept in a fashionable up-do. From the hunger smoldering in Killian’s crystal eyes, he knew it, too.

She took a sip of her drink, letting her eyes roam across the adornments of his uniform jacket. “You’re one to talk, captain. Dressed like that. Might make a girl’s head spin.”

“There’s only one woman whose attention I endeavor to prove myself worthy of tonight.”

Her smile widened as she watched him drink from his highball, tilting his head back to purposefully expose the column of his throat. She couldn’t help but stare. “Do you think you’re succeeding?”

“Why, Captain Jones,” a sultry alto voice interrupted, dripping with heavy concern, “is everything alright?” The fur and diamond clad form of Cruella de Vil Midas sidled up to Killian’s side with a plastered smile. Her cold eyes dragged over to Emma, smile tightening with displeasure. “Emma? Is something not to the captain’s liking?”

“No, ma’am. Please,” Killian answered politely, offering a charming smile, “there’s nothing amiss.”

Cruella sighed, a dramatic put-upon sound. “Well, that’s kind of you to say, darling,” she shook her head with another sigh, “the pineapple in the cheeseball is _ghastly_ , and there’s never enough Vienna sausage. We simply must do something before the next reception, Emma.”

Emma nodded stiffly. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll have a word with the head of the staff.”

“We’ll do better than that,” Cruella flashed a proud smile, “I _am_ the wife of the astronaut program director, after all. We’ll have the staff groveling at our feet.”

Emma schooled her face into a politely neutral expression. She learned early on not to contradict the director’s second wife - at least, not in such a public setting. The woman put so much stock into appearances - she was never caught without at least one article of fur and something that glittered with diamonds, after all - but behind closed doors, she was remarkably lazy. It drastically simplified Emma’s job. The woman was truly all bark and no bite.

Cruella chuckled, low and melodic, as she fixed her gaze back to Killian. “Well then, captain, whatever are you doing over here in the corner, chatting up the secretary, when you should be clinking glasses with Senator James’ daughter? I had her invited specially, you know - she’s just an absolute darling! You simply have to meet her!”

Killian’s mouth quirked with an uncomfortable edge, a light dusting of pink settling to fine shape of his ears. The shape that Emma had mapped with her tongue and moaned his name into.

He fixed Cruella with a polite look. “Well, ma’am, I was paying my respects to Miss Swan for the lovely evening. I know how hard she worked to organize this event, on top of her other job duties.”

“Yes,” Cruella intoned flatly, “such admirable work, to be sure. But if you’re quite finished, I simply must introduce you to Miss James. You won’t be disappointed.”

He flashed Emma a look that said far more than he could dare voice. His head tipped in polite farewell, eyes blazing with a promise - a heated look that told her this night was far from over. “Cheers to a lovely evening, Miss Swan.” He raised his glass in salute as Cruella’s smile exploded.

“I know you’re just going to hit it off, darling,” the director’s wife steered Killian away, “she’s majored in music and is really quite accomplished….” The rest of Cruella’s words faded into the general reception din and Emma found herself alone again with her gimlet.

A quick glance at her wristwatch confirmed only 44 minutes left of this dog and pony show.

She could see Cruella and Killian through the crowd, now conversing with - presumably - Miss James. The young woman carried herself with a royal bearing and a smile that was groomed for a life in the spotlight. Her platinum blonde hair held in its perfect up-do above a forest green dress lent an ethereal, lavender light to her eyes. Even Emma couldn’t deny her obvious beauty and classy poise. And standing next to Killian? She couldn’t deny such a striking couple would make magazine covers in no time.

Possessive jealousy bubbled within her. She exhaled a deep breath, taking a long pull of her drink. If only she had been able to take Killian’s arm, to hear him tell Cruella that he already had a ladylove. How satisfying would it have been to watch Cruella’s face fall in horror. The heroic astronaut and the office secretary?! She could almost hear the director’s wife snarling about such a romance as the stuff of dime store novel trash, not the wealthy society pages more befitting an international hero.

But she and Killian had reached an easy agreement. Neither of them were ready to go public on a national and international scale quite yet. Neither had voiced it, but mission launch presented so many unknowns that Emma was happy to not make a scene and have their relationship splashed across the newspapers just yet.

Still though, imagining Cruella's reaction when the news finally did break entertained her for far longer than it should. And what of Miss James? Would she just be green with envy to learn that, despite all her obvious merits, it was Emma who warmed Killian's bed? That only Emma got to know the man behind the uniform and hear sinful words purred on his luscious accent? That only she got to have him close the dark hours of the night, feeling every inch of him until she couldn't think straight? Tendrils of heat curled low in her belly, building to a steady, familiar pulse. She could just feel the phantom slide of his fingers. 

_You're bloody soaked, love. Were you a naughty girl tonight? Walking amongst all those important people while dripping wet for me?_

She sighed to stem the direction of her thoughts and resisted looking at her watch again. But eventually, the officials started to take their leave, disappearing in sleek motorcades and chauffeured cars. The Nolans and Millses disappeared before she could find time for a word, and she was swept up with clean-up oversight and closing down the reception room.

A few people lingered in the space - and she wasn’t surprised to see Killian still among them. After all, what plausible excuse would there be for a bachelor astronaut to leave before the last guest? She caught his eye, flashing him a smile and discrete wink as she passed by on her way to the serving kitchen.

The conversation with the head of the staff progressed as it always did - she complimented the service, and passed along Cruella’s feedback on the pineapple in the cheeseball. Emma hadn’t found it offensive but she wasn’t about to risk the fallout if Cruella found pineapple in the next send-off reception cheeseball.

Her heels clicked off the polished wood floor as she left the serving kitchen and walked back towards the reception room. The surroundings had gone quiet which made her hopeful that everyone had finally left and she could finish closing down the space.

She pushed back through the door, conflicted to actually find the room empty. Yes, she wanted to close up and be done for the night - but she was nowhere near ready to be done with Killian, and surely he knew that. Hell, he'd driven her to such a state and now, she only wanted to tear him out of his uniform. 

Sighing with pent up frustration, she walked through the room one last time, retrieving her bag from its hiding spot before flipping off the lights. The cleaning crew would take care of the rest. Pulling open the heavy door, she squinted into the dimmed hallway before closing it behind her.

She rounded the corner, situating her purse on her arm, stopping short at the shadowy silhouette leaning against the wall. Goodness, Killian looked even better in the half-lighting with the knot of his uniform tie loosened and his relaxed posture. Arousal kindled in her belly the longer she looked at him. Desire burned hot in his eyes and the set of his mouth, and she knew her face broadcasted the same. And now, finally, there was no one else around.

She wet her bottom lip, an obvious tease as she stepped towards him. “I’m pleased to see you still here, captain.”

He hummed softly, the sound resonating in her blood. “Ensuring your pleasure has been my utmost concern all evening.”

Liquid heat rushed through her, pooling heavy between her legs. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather see to the senator’s daughter?”

“She’s certainly easy enough on the eyes. But sorely lacking in any real spirit. It’s one thing to put on a persona for the public eye, but it’s another thing entirely to live that persona behind closed doors.”

“Hmm, no more leather and earrings for you, then. Just this uniform....” She raked her gaze down, purposefully lingering on the spread of fabric across his chest, the creases of his trousers before rolling back to his gaze. He looked ready to devour her, hiding nothing of his desire.

Her breath came in shallow draws as her legs twitched. Holy goodness but this was exhilarating. Such blatant, hungry foreplay in such a public place...she never considered herself much of one for exhibitionism, but there was something thrilling about such an interlude. Her lips pulled to a coy smile. “Such a shame it does so little for you, captain.”

He chuckled a deep, throaty sound with nothing subtle in the drag of his eyes down her dress-clad form. Aching need swelled within her as she watched him, the intensity of his gaze penetrating her clothing and scorching her skin. His eyes settled back to hers with a last thread of control. “Then, let’s do something about it.”

She abandoned any last pretense, pushing into his space and slotting her mouth to his. He responded in kind, mouths falling open as his hands fell to her waist, holding her like a drowning man clinging to his last breath. She could taste the spiced rum on his tongue, the heat of it burning down her spine. A groan spilled from his mouth as the front of her body pressed to his, rocking against his hard arousal. Liquid heat surged through her at the intimate contact, whimpering when his hands slid to her backside, pulling her closer in a slow grind.

_Sweet mother_ , after so many hours, it was damn well time to do something about that uniform.

She slid her hand down along his arm, prying his hand away from her body to hold it tight. His eyes blazed with a worried question, but she simply smirked, pulling him silently down the hallway. She knew just where they could go.

The small meeting room wasn’t used very often, but it sat at the end of the hall - adorned with plush chairs, a polished wood table - and it was never locked. She pushed the door open into the dark interior, flipping the first switch to turn on the table reading lights to bathe the room in beams of sharp light and fuzzy shadows.

Excited anticipation sang in her body as she reached around him to snick the lock on the door. His eyes blew wide with molten desire, making her heart pound. He lunged forward, tilting his head but she stepped back, a wicked smirk lighting her face.

His gaze darkened to a confused glare as she took another step back, swinging her hips wide and suggestive. Goodness, she’d never done anything so reckless, so wild as she took another step back towards the table. His eyes were an impossibly dark indigo now, clouded and hooded, his mouth ticking up in recognition of her game as she perched on the table’s edge, rubbing her thighs together beneath her column skirt.

She met him with a challenging, provocative look, arousal thrumming through her. “Well, Captain Hook…,” she turned, rolling over onto her stomach against the polished wood, giving him a perfect view of her curved backside as she gazed at him over her shoulder. “Don’t pirate captains have a reputation for taking what they want?”

His primal groan spoke straight to her core as he tore at his tie and shirt collar. He rushed forward with all the strength he possessed, pushing a gasp from her as his weight fell against her and the hard ridge of him pressed tight against her. She rolled instinctively into him, eyes fluttering at the promise of having him, hot and heavy, inside her.

His mouth skimmed over the shell of her ear, breath hot as he grappled for the last vestige of control. “If this ever goes where you don’t want, love, say ‘abort’ and this ends. Otherwise, nothing short of a fireman’s axe will tear me from you. If you understand, say that you copy.”

Her mind verged on overload with all the promise and raw need roughing his voice. But yes, she understood. She understood and she _wanted_. “I copy.”

He groaned, part in relief, part in pent-up desire as his hips ground into her, pushing her harder against the table. “Bloody siren you are, Swan,” he nipped her earlobe, pulling a moan from her throat, “but what to do with such a gorgeous wench when she offers herself to the captain so prettily?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, this was not goodbye.

Emma couldn't remember a lovelier weekend. They had barely left Killian's bed - staying too content and wrapped up in each other. Whether dozing, or touching, or talking, or just being together. It was all they had right now, and all they would have for the next six weeks. There wouldn't even be phone calls or letters, not with the intense amount of scrutiny he would be under. 

All weekend, they had both done their best not to let the weight of their impending separation overshadow what time they had. But she could see it - something - in his gaze as the hours started to dwindle. A fear, a trepidation - a resignation. But resigned to what? She'd always prided herself on her ability to read people, but whatever haunted him remained an enigma. 

Yes, she remembered their first date - when they'd each promised to tell the other when they were ready. But she was just as guilty for not opening up her past darkness when they could share such present happiness. Maybe...hopefully, once the mission was over. 

She snuggled closer to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Dawn bathed the walls of his bedroom in soft blues and purples, and she didn't want to look at the clock to know how many hours were left before the Monday morning alarm forced them to part. He was so warm, so  _here_ \- it seemed impossible that he would be 200,000 miles away in three weeks’ time. Her fingers drifted lazily through the dark hair on his chest, her legs twined with his as she basked in just existing with him.

Was it really so much to ask for this – for _him_ – for the rest of her life?

A spike of anxiety pierced her gut in the face of all the uncertainty that threatened to descend. Would he still want her when he returned from the moon? Would he even come back from the black of space? And that was all to saying nothing of the apprehensive edge that had haunted his eyes all weekend. 

She sighed gently as she nuzzled the stubble on his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to reassure herself. He was here, _now_ , and they had each other. Why couldn't she just tell him everything - burden him with all her thoughts that stole her from sleep in these early hours. Goodness, how selfish did that sound? She wasn't the one about to risk her life in the vacuum of space, but could she get him to open to her in return? To spill his fears, his worries - to trust her with his burdens? 

He hummed softly, chest moving with a deep inhale. “How’s a man supposed to get any sleep around here with you thinking so loudly?”

Her mouth curled to a smile against his skin. “Not my fault if you can’t handle it.” She popped the last ‘t’ in imitation of hearing him do it, exhaling an amused breath.

“Oh, I think last night proved I can more than handle anything your insatiable appetites demand.” He turned towards her, a drowsy smile brightening his face as he kissed her cheek before continuing to roll. His hands reached for her waist, tucking the curve of her spine flush to his chest, further twining their legs. His arm draped across her stomach, holding her close, lacing his fingers with hers. He pressed a lingering, comforting kiss to her neck, gentle words in her ear. “What’s on your mind, love?”

She sighed gently, squeezing his hand as she melted into his embrace. “Just thinking that…I don’t even have a photograph of you.”

“The press corps has taken countless photos.”

“Your press photo smile is nothing compared to the smiles that I see.” She turned her head into his, feeling his breath on her cheek. “I would want a photograph of you as you are around me.”

His chuckle rumbled against her back as he nuzzled her. “Undressed?”

She snorted softly. “Not exactly something I could put in a locket.”

“Is that what you want to do, hmm? Lock me up?”

“Well, it’s one way to keep you close when you’re so far away.”

He pulled her in tighter with a pleased groan, clinging to her as if never to let go. “And I promise that I will do everything I can to come back to you." 

She sighed, feeling her stomach seize. “Please don’t make promises you can’t keep. There’s so much ahead, and if something happens -,” the words stuck in her throat and she forced a hard swallow, “and if you come back and don’t want –"

“Emma,” he angled to meet her gaze head on, eyes brimming with such overwhelming love, “this - with you - is what I want. No matter what shape it takes now, or could take. Please never doubt that." He drew a deep breath, a steely conviction hardening his gaze. "No matter what happens – never doubt that I want nothing more than to come back to you and give you all that I have to give. For as long as you’ll let me.”

Tears stung her eyes as she wrenched another swallow. “I want to believe you, I do. But I’ve believed before…and ended up hurt. Every time.” She shook her head, imploring him to understand. “I want to, but I’m…scared to.” She watched his eyes fall heavy. "Especially when...I can't tell if you're being honest with me or not. You...you've looked happy all weekend, but yet...so sad and fearful all at the same time." 

His lips lifted with the most heartbreaking smile as he leaned in, foreheads and noses touching. “Remember that afternoon in the VAB? When you asked me what I was afraid of? God, I wanted to tell you everything in that moment – how much I love you, how much I fear losing you and everything that we could be together. How much I vow to never intentionally hurt you. And, now that we're here - it's real. It will be real until the mission ends, and until we have the chance to be together again." 

"Together again." Her eyes dropped closed, drawing a deep breath. "Together. We can do this...together." She tilted her head to meet his mouth, pouring her answer into the heady kiss. Her hand rose to card through his sleep tousled hair, opening to let him in deeper with a soft moan. Would she ever be able to get enough of him? This man she loved, this man she would willingly give the rest of her life to.

A simmering heat stirred to life in her belly as his hand cradled her neck in a tender hold. A hold that affirmed everything his words promised. A hold that told her he loved her as fiercely as she loved him.

Together. They were in this together.

She drew a breath, breaking the kiss and tilting her face to press against his. Never before had she found such contentment just being with someone. But Killian had been different right from the start.

His lips brushed hers, feather-light. “Any other worries that we didn’t address, love?”

A soft laugh bubbled out of her, part relief, part giddy joy, part anxious release. “Honestly, some part of me is always going to worry until you’re back here.”

“Sounds tedious,” his breath tickled her cheek as he pressed a nuzzling kiss, “glad I won’t be around for that.”

“Jerk.” She thumped him lightly on the shoulder, drinking in his light chuckle.

“Your lovable jerk, at least.”

“The very least.” She sighed, relaxing into his hold, into the press of him. How many more stolen moments could they have before they had to face the rest of the world?

“I have an idea,” he rumbled softly, disentangling from her, “wait here a minute.”

She looked on curiously as he slid from the bedsheets, walking over to his packed trunk, completely at ease in his own skin. A tentative smile lifted her lips as she watched him flip the lid and rummage through the contents. Once he went into pre-mission quarantine today, this little house would get a thorough scrub in preparation for the next temporary astronaut inhabitant, and his trunk of belongings would ship back to Houston to be ready when he landed. She couldn’t see what he gathered in his hand, but he dropped the trunk lid with a clank of the buckles before walking back to the bed.

He slid back under the sheets beside her, propping up on his left elbow with a hopeful smile. “Not a photograph, but maybe this’ll do instead.” He hefted a metal watch in his left hand and what looked like a pair of pliers in his right hand. “I’m sure it will dwarf your wrist, but it’s the best I can offer right now.” He turned the watch over, prying at the clasp to peel links from the band to shrink the fit.

She couldn’t believe it. “You’re mutilating your watch for me? Wouldn’t it be simpler to part with the earring or that skull pendant?”

“I don’t want to give you those parts of me.”

“But what if I want all of you?”

He flashed her a smile full of amazed affection. “Aye, you do have all of me, love. But this,” he motioned to the watch, "is far more practical. How better for you to count the hours that I’m away?”

“Won’t you need it, though?”

“Not this one. Haven’t worn it since I joined the program and was gifted a pretty classy, zero-g approved upgrade.”

Her gaze drifted to the bedside table to his wristwatch that rested there. Both that one and the one in his hand looked similar enough – stainless metal band, black watch face with multiple dials and white hands.

“There,” he pronounced, dropping the pliers to reach for her left hand, “let’s see how that fits.”

She couldn’t reign in a giddy smile as the heavy metal settled around her wrist. He was right, of course – the width of the watchface nearly matched the width of her wrist, but as he fastened the clasp, she shook her wrist, impressed with the comfortable fit.

He nodded down, pride in his gaze. “Look at that – guess that engineering degree paid off for something.” He matched her laughter. “Now, don’t think you get to keep it forever – I will come back for it.”

“Just you try, pirate,” she teased, leaning up on an elbow to draw his gaze to her lips, “you’ve already stolen my heart. Is there any treasure of mine that’s safe from you?”

Her smile exploded wide as she let him press her back to the bedcovers and steal enough time, enough breathless moments, enough endless love to make them both late for work - because, dammit, this was _not_ goodbye.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She'll take any chance to see Killian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, y'all. I was mildly stunned when I discovered "That Show with Joan Rivers" aired an episode in 1968 about burlesque and stripteases on daytime television...and sometimes, real life is just better than fiction and I couldn't resist. Major credit where credit is due here. Recommended music "The Stripper" by David Rose & His Orchestra.

Emma reached for the knob on the television set, turning up the volume as the talk show program’s opening theme played. She’d never been a particularly big fan of daytime talk shows. Not that she had any real love of the evening programming either, but after two weeks of missing Killian more than she wanted to admit, she’d take any excuse to see him. Even if it was through a series of camera lenses and screens.

“ _It_ _’s_   _'Th_ e _Clark & Fern Show'! And noooooooow, here’s Clark and Fern!”  _

_T_ _he two hosts burst onto the stage to an uproarious applause, each grinning with wide smiles as they waved to the crowd._

_“Thank you, folks, and welcome to the show!” Clark said jovially. “And have we got a great show in store for you today.”_

_“That’s right, Clark,” Fern added, gesturing to the set, “you’re probably wondering what I’m doing on a runway - if it’s not at the airport - well, that’s because we can’t afford a launchpad and we’re about to take off, folks! That’s right! We’re going to launch into the atmosphere and beyond with a show that is out of this world! Because our topic today, of course, is the moon - the moon, right? Who doesn’t want to go to the moon? I know I’ll be first in line when I can buy a condo because, come on - have you seen the real estate prices in New York? I think the average annual rent costs the equivalent of a NASA lunar mission - and you get about as much square footage as those capsules, too!”_

Fern continued to prattle on with the opening monologue as Clark added the occasional comment. ‘The Clark & Fern Show’ was one of the more popular daytime talk shows on the networks, and Emma knew the NASA PR office had tried for guest spots during the last mission to no success. She still couldn't quite understand why the office wanted this talk show in particular. More often than not, Fern ran away with the conversation, always pushing the bounds just this side of risque while Clark tried to ground the discussion. They played well off of each other, even if Clark wasn’t as dynamic a presence as Fern.

“ _But enough about spam in a can,” Fern clapped her hands excitedly, “because first up! We have three very special guests who will soon - literally! - find themselves out of this world when they travel to the moon next week. They’re currently in isolation before launching into space, but we’ll have video feed for a live interview with the heroic trio of Apollo 19!”_

_Applause roared as Clark stepped up. “And our exploration of the moon continues as we welcome the fabulous, fiery and fascinating owner of the Moon Madame Lounge - the newest, hippest venue in town that’s making headlines - the one, the only Shelli Barton!”_

She continued to watch through the commercial break and through the restart of the show. Fern and Clark each had a chair, and a third sat empty on Fern’s left. A giant screen rested behind them, currently black with a static line through the middle of it.

_“Welcome back, folks,” Clark greeted warmly, “in a move that I can only describe as truly space-age, please welcome the astronauts of Apollo 19, coming to us live from sunny Florida!” He continued with the introductions as the screen crackled to life behind him, revealing a stunningly clear scene._

_The three astronauts sat on a couch, each dressed in a sharp suit and tie, looking calm and relaxed as they waved out at the cheering crowd. Robin sat on the far right of the screen, with David in the middle and Killian on the left._

_“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” Clark called out with a wave. “Welcome to the show!”_

_“Thank you for having us,” David’s voice carried loud and clear, “though, I’m afraid I have to correct you - no sun down here right now. Just lots of rain.”_

_Fern’s mouth dipped in a pout. “Well, that’s a crying shame. Though as I understand it, you three are isolated - kept locked indoors until the day of launch, correct?”_

_Killian’s brow furrowed as he glanced to his crewmates. “Have we lost our sunny tans already?”_

_Robin laughed softly. “Maybe so, but not our sunny dispositions.”_

_“Oh, oh!” Fern squealed excitedly. “Do tell! Especially since you’re cut off from the world at large - from your wives, from your children - I can’t imagine what that must be like for you. For them!” She turned to the crowd, raising a hand in mocking attempt to tell a secret. “I know if I had a husband who looked like any of them, I’d cry into my pillow every night until he came back!”_

_The crowd twittered their approval as the three men responded - a hesitant smirk from Robin, a chuckle from David and an eyebrow shrug from Killian._

_David shook his head softly. “It’s tough, and yes, we do miss our loved ones - but we’re still allowed phone calls, sometimes daily - especially as launch gets closer. And that does really help.”_

_Robin leaned forward. “I got to talk with my boys just yesterday, and I hear they’ve made a spaceship of their own in the backyard out of sheets and moving boxes."_

_“Sounds about right.” Killian added as the crowd cooed sweetly._

_Robin’s face widened with a smile. “Their ETA for launch just happens to coincide with ours, so I'm expecting that we’ll rendezvous before leaving Earth orbit.”_

_“That is certainly special, captain,” Clark said with warm amusement over gentle applause, “I hope your boys’ mission is a great success.”_

_“Now, what about you, Captain Jones?” Fern pressed with a mischievous smile. “You’re a bachelor as every married and unmarried woman in the world knows - and secretly hopes she can cure - but do tell. You’ve been in America for over four years now. Is there someone special that you’re leaving behind next week?”_

_Killian’s face brightened with surprise, the corner of his mouth pulling to an embarrassed smile as the crowd voiced their cheering support for his answer._

Emma couldn’t be sure with the colors on the television, but it looked like a dusting of pink had settled to the tips of his ears. Her heart raced with anticipation. 

_“Oh! I think that’s a yes, captain!” Fern declared to a whooping response from the crowd. “Look at that bashful blush and that coy smile! Sorry, ladies - we’re all too late!”_

_Killian sighed through a widening smile, glancing over to see David and Robin nodding their support. “Now I know what a fly on flypaper feels like,” he laughed softly as the crowd did too, “but aye, there is a special lass who I hope will wait for me. It...uh, it won’t feel like coming home if she’s not there.”_

Emma felt tears sting the corners of her eyes as she reached for his watch on her wrist. Hearing him say those words was tonic that she didn't know she needed after the last two weeks apart. 

_The crowd melted with loud coos and applause, and Fern was the loudest of them all into her microphone. “That's beautiful, captain! Wouldn’t you just believe it, ladies? A looker and a sweetheart, to boot! And special lass - if you’re watching - you’ve absolutely got yourself a keeper! But if you do decide to cut him loose – then I hope you’ll give him my phone number.” Fern turned back to the screen, gesturing at David. “Now, Commander Nolan – you’ve got quite the life event on the horizon after splashdown: becoming a first-time dad. Congratulations to both you and your wife, first off!”_

_The crowd applauded in agreement as David nodded with a warm smile. “Thank you. We’re very excited.”_

_“As you should be!” Fern continued. “But I have to know – switching jobs from astronaut to father – are there any skills that you think will transfer?”_

_David chuckled softly, mouth curling with a playful edge. “Well, I certainly hope I’m not calculating orbital trajectories for my child, but…uh, I suppose familiarity with mushy food in bags and bottles will come in handy.”_

_Robin tapped David’s arm. “Use your wrist to temperature check first, though.” He gestured for emphasis and David nodded._

_“Of course!” David turned back towards the camera. “And I’ll have the whole way to and from the moon to learn from Robin’s experience. And, of course, you know…Hook and Robin will each have their assigned parts of the CSM, so if there’s any fighting….”_

_As David spoke, Killian snuck a hand behind his commander, tugging on the sleeve on Robin’s suit jacket in a classic younger sibling gesture designed to irritate. Robin shrugged it off with a deadpan look. “He’s touching me…dad, he’s touching me.”_

_Neither Killian or David could keep a straight face, and David turned to glance between them with a mock-scowl. “Hey, now, don’t make me pull this rocket over.”_

The crowd roared with laughter and even Emma found herself chuckling along. It was wonderful to see them having fun and letting loose a little before launch. She knew all too well how jam-packed the schedule was in this last week.

_Clark’s laughter reverberated in his mic. “That’s great! It certainly seems like you three have a great rapport, and obviously know each other very well. So – what’s something that the other two don’t know about you?”_

_The crowd whooped with excited anticipation as looks of surprise and contemplation crossed the astronauts' faces._

_“Wow,” David breathed, “that’s a good one – and a tough one. We’ve largely spent the last four years together…it’s hard to remember what they know and what they don’t….”_

_Robin laughed softly. “Honestly, that’s longer than I’ve been married to my wife,” he shook his head, “but you both know that I grew up near forestland, but I don’t think you know that I’m actually quite good with a bow and arrow.”_

_Killian shrugged a surprised brow. “Really?”_

_“Of course,” Robin didn’t bat an eye, “during season, my dad and I would hunt, but he didn’t think rifles were very sporting, so bow and arrow it was. And what little boy didn’t dream of running through the woods like Robin Hood with a bow and arrow – especially when I was already named Robin.”_

_The crowd laughed along with the hosts, David and Killian._

_David shook his head, almost embarrassed though nothing else on his face showed it. “Well, I’ve always enjoyed horseback riding. We didn’t have many horses on the farm where I grew up, but I rode every chance I could get. Even tried my hand at some jumps and trick riding – guess that was where my daredevil streak started.”_

_Robin laughed a whole-hearted sound. “And then you traded your horse for a fighter jet?”_

_“Yeah, pretty much.” The crowd’s laughter sounded over David’s response._

_Killian laughed gently. “Have to switch from calling you ‘yank’ to ‘cowboy’ now.”_

_David looked over with amusement to match. “Might want to reserve new nicknames until we hear something about you that we don’t know.”_

_The crowd applauded their approval and excitement as Killian shook his head, biting his lip. “Well, I wish I had something as manly as hunting and horse-riding –  like sword-fighting or sail-rigging, perhaps. But, alas, I only have an affinity for playing the guitar and singing. Even ran with a small group during uni for a few years. We fancied ourselves good, but obviously not good enough to make a living from it. Now, it’s just a hobby.”_

_David smirked. “Well, we knew you liked to sing – you’ve been known to hum a tune or two.”_

_Robin shot him a teasing look. “Didn’t know you were actually supposed to be good at it, though.”_

_The crowd roared with laughter as Fern clapped excitedly. “Wonderful! All of you – simply wonderful! Hopefully after you return to Earth, you can all find some time to share those activities together. What a better way to celebrate than bow and arrow hunting on horseback, and singing around a campfire?!” She paused for applause. “But speaking of celebration – it’s time to welcome our final guest of the afternoon, Ms. Shelli Barton, owner and founder of the Moon Madame Lounge!”_

Bold, bright jazzy music filtered across the speakers as Emma watched a tall, svelte woman take the stage. Her whole look oozed an exotic appeal – dark eye makeup, lush hair, and a suit dress in the color of decadent wine. She moved to her chair, embracing the hosts with an elegant, dance-like air. 

The hosts prattled on, conducting introductions – even the three astronauts rose to their feet, applauding her arrival in polite fashion.

_Slowly, the hoopla died down and Fern’s voice came through, excitedly. “We are so lucky to have you here today – you’re quite the busy woman! Now, the Moon Madame Lounge – an upscale restaurant where the whole theme is futuristic travel to the moon.”_

_“That’s right, Fern,” Shelli’s voice carried a melodic, sultry note, “of course, as you know, we’ve been open for a little over a year and just received our first Michelin star.” A wave of applause sounded. “Which we’re all very excited about – and we’re trying to reach for that second star – but it’s quite an honor to even be considered.”_

_“Well, the whole experience is first-class – truly, folks. If you’re looking for a great date night, don’t let the name fool you.” Clark added, looking back to Shelli. “My favorite dish has to be the Moon Rocks appetizer – fried and breaded balls of…I don’t even remember!”_

_“Well, it’s a secret, darling,” Shelli drawled, “can’t give it away here. Besides, you should ask the three gentlemen on screen – they’ve studied moon rocks far longer than I have, so I can’t vouch for the authenticity of our recipe.”_

_The crowd chortled with the hosts as Fern turned towards the crowd excitedly. “And the food’s not even the best part, ladies and gentlemen! The Lounge also comes complete with a show – stay for dessert past 9 pm, and you’ll be treated to a top-notch, first-rate burlesque show!”_

The crowd oohed with taboo, excited interest as Emma’s mouth fell open. NASA put their astronauts on the same show as a burlesque club?! She watched the crew’s eyebrows rise with equal surprise and cautious interest. David appeared the most flabbergasted, shifting against the couch with a stunned look as Killian’s mouth curved with a smile of disbelief and Robin schooled his expression into something pleasantly neutral.

_“Now, for those who aren’t familiar,” Fern continued, looking back to Shelli, “can you explain the difference between a burlesque act and a regular striptease?”_

_Shelli’s face hardened with a strangely serious look. “Why it’s the difference between watching a baseball game - or a football game - versus just seeing the end of it. You go to these sporting events to see the game played - you don’t go for the end or the score. Might as well just pick up the paper the next day. I mean, what substance is there to having whipped cream before the meat and potatoes? It’s ridiculous.”_

_Fern laughed. “You know, I performed in the whipped cream when I first got into show business. Yes! That’s how I got my start - didn’t everyone?” The crowd chortled with her. “They called me Cinnamon June and I...I’m sure I was terrible. My gimmick was sequins everywhere - so much that I was fired for blinding at least two patrons! But if you’ve ever been to a burlesque show - each dancer has their own gimmick. Their own unique offering that makes their act different from every other girl who’s peeling her clothes off. Gentlemen, surely,” she turned to look at the screen with a wicked smirk, “surely, you’ve seen your fair share? Especially our bachelor.”_

_David’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline, chuckling unevenly. “Can they fire us for answering?”_

_Robin looked on with equally amused bafflement. “I think I fear the wrath of my wife over the wrath of our boss.” He leaned forward, his face narrowing with a goading look. “But go on, Hook, tell us - inquiring minds want to know.”_

_“Oh, do tell, captain!” Fern encouraged, rousing a wave of excited applause from the audience._

_Killian chuckled quietly with a bemused expression. But then, he licked his lips, decision made as he looked at the camera with a purposefully sly edge. “I’m sure you can use your imagination, but I prefer not to kiss and tell.”_

_“Awwww, well there you have it! A true gentleman!” Fern lead another round of enthusiastic, approving applause._

Emma couldn’t believe the PR office approved this program. Especially as Fern turned the topic of conversation back to Shelli and her days of burlesque dancing. Was NASA trying to give the space program an edgier appeal? A...racier appeal? Surely, they weren’t using 'The Clark & Fern Show' to reach a wider, different audience. NASA preferred to keep such a squeaky clean imagine of their astronaut heroes that Emma had to chuckle in sheer astonishment.

_“No, it’s true,” Shelli said with a mild shrug, “hair is the most provocative peek-a-boo material.”_

_Fern hummed in agreement. “But it’s not something our gentlemen astronauts would be able to use.”_

_“Oh, no,” Shelli agreed, her face brightening with a mischievous twinkle, “that wouldn’t be the right gimmick for them.”_

_Fern matched Shelli’s playful look. “So, what gimmick would you give these three fine men?”_

_David shook his head, eyes wide with an embarrassed laugh. “Oh no, no.”_

_Shelli laughed gently. “It’s such a personal thing, really. Each dancer usually picks a gimmick to accentuate their best feature, or hide their worst feature. But in this scenario you’ve concocted - I’d have to say these three gentlemen need to play up the moon gimmick.” The crowd laughed and applauded as Shelli looked out for support. “It is the theme for this show, after all!”_

_Fern swiveled around back towards the astronauts. “What do you say, gentlemen? Care to give us a preview!?” If possible the crowd roared louder and Clark looked on, stricken despite the awkward amusement on his face._

Utter astonishment exploded on the three crewmates’ faces and Emma could certainly see embarrassed blushes break out across all their faces as they politely demurred. Fern continued to press and whip the crowd into a supportive, excited frenzy. Shelli even volunteered to show them how it was done - Fern called for backup music to play and Shelli sauntered down the runway like she owned it. She danced with an easy grace, reaching for buttons on her suit jacket and teasing them open. When the last button fell away, she reached for the loose edge, flapping it back and forth as Fern commented on the peek-a-boo play. The crowd exploded in supportive cheers as the music stopped and Shelli finished by sliding the jacket off her shoulder with a quick bow. She returned to her seat, utterly shameless as Fern looked on with an envious smile.

_“Thank you, Shelli. That was something - truly inspirational. But now, gentlemen,” she turned back to the screen, “after a show like that, we won’t take no for an answer. We -.” She broke off as a fast jazzy trumpet line interrupted her, her mouth falling to a mock pout. “I knew this was gonna happen - we’ll take a commercial break, but hurry up and come right back. Cause when we do - it’s time for these fine gentlemen to give us the best they got!”_

The studio camera panned out as applause roared over the speakers, and Emma could just see the crew looking offscreen, clearly talking to someone. Was this it? Was this the moment that they were pulled from the live broadcast? How could NASA possibly let them participate in a striptease on daytime television? Honestly, it shocked Emma that Shelli had been able to get away with such a provocative dance. She watched with rapt attention as the commercials wrapped and the jazzy music resumed, camera zooming back in on the talk show stage.

_Fern smiled, wide and proud. “Alight, welcome back - and now, we’re in for the biggest treat! Yes, we are! It’s now our heroes’ turn to show us what they got! Just in case, you know, the whole moon gig doesn’t work out for them.”_

_Shelli laughed. “And if it doesn’t, then I’d be happy to employ them!” She looked to the screen with an encouraging smile. “Now remember, gentlemen - you must have peek-a-boo!”_

Emma watched the astronauts with wide eyes. Each man wore a differing degree of uncertain smile but they stood up. She noticed that each one had their suit jackets buttoned - proper and pristine - as the camera zoomed out to better fit them in frame. Their self-deprecating quips about being bad dancers and offering apologies in advance only seemed to excite the crowd more. Had NASA truly authorized them to do this? Fern called for the appropriate music, and started clapping as the jazzy tune from Shelli’s dance started to play.

Slowly, unsteadily, they each began to move their heads to the beat. Surprisingly, yet unsurprisingly, Killian was the first to move his shoulders with the tune but it didn’t take long for the others to follow - and the crowd voiced their overwhelming approval.

David’s face curled with a bewildered smile as he raised his left hand and the others followed, settling their right hand to the shirt cufflink. Robin pulled his cufflink free first with a grin, pocketing it as David dropped his to the floor with an exaggerated gesture while the crowd voiced their excitement. But that’s when Killian pinched his cufflink between his thumb and middle finger, launching it out of view of the camera to a deafening frenzy.

The other two instantly called him out over the music, teasing and joking as they raised their right arms, undoing the remaining cufflink. Not to be outdone this time, all three astronauts flung their cufflinks offscreen to thunderous catcalls and applause. Emma couldn’t look away, transfixed and stunned.

Killian reached for this shirt cuff first, teasing the spread of white fabric back. David and Robin followed, tugging at their loose cuff in an attempt of the peek-a-boo move that Shelli had done earlier. But then, they flipped their cuffs back altogether, revealing the skin of their wrists and the watches that rested there. The audience continued their cheering cries, lead by Fern and Shelli, as the astronauts each exposed the last of their wrists, swaying their shoulders and arms to display the skin. The song drew to a close and David lead the charge of taking bows while the crowd roared with massive approval.

_Fern looked ready to burst, her smile threatening to split her face in two as the astronauts took their seats. “Gentlemen, that was outstanding! I cannot thank you - and NASA - enough for being good sports! Hopefully Mrs. Mills and Mrs. Nolan can understand,” she turned towards the camera with her wide smile, “ladies, thank you for sharing your men with us. I promise - we’re all look and no touch here, and that’s not just because your fine men are in isolation!”_

_Shelli looked on with an intrigued look. “But, no - see, I think everyone’s learned something today. You should be provocative in your marriage. Behind closed doors, whose business is it what lovers get up to?” A wave of approving applause rose from the crowd._

_“Oh, exactly!” Fern agreed with a twittering laugh. “Gotta keep it exciting!”_

_Clark shook his head, clearly bewildered with the direction of conversation. “Maybe that’s what you need - but, tell us, Commander Nolan and Captain Mills - you’d both say that you’re happily married?”_

_David’s smile softened with obvious love. “Very much so.”_

_“Absolutely.” Robin agreed. “I don’t need to fling my cufflinks at home - very happy marriage the way it is.”_

_Killian quirked a brow. “Maybe you have other tricks.”_

_David laughed. “Maybe if I fling my cufflinks, Mrs. Nolan won’t let me do these daytime shows anymore.”_

Emma couldn’t help but laugh, drawn in by their easy banter and playful camaraderie.

She had to admit - it was one hell of an enthralling program that would keep people talking. And if the PR office had one goal in the week prior to launch - it was to build even more public hype and excitement.

As the crowd continued to clap and laugh along - equally drawn in by the men’s charisma and charm - there couldn’t be a better metric for success.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Houston, we have lift-off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Apollo 11 mission transcripts are a fascinating and inspirational read.

Goodness, but Emma barely slept. Had Killian slept at all? Had any of them slept? How could they possibly sleep?

Dawn burned clear and bright, painting the gleaming rocket in fine, crisp colors. Energy and excitement buzzed all over KSC as the press corps arrived and senior government motorcades jammed the roads around the complex. Usually, this was just the business of launch day - all the prestige and fanfare and palpable energy. But Emma’s stomach had never been a more knotted mess.

She blew another sigh, hoping to dispel her anxiousness as she closed the door to her office at the O&C. If there was one good perk to being Midas’ secretary, it was her reserved seat in the grandstand for each launch. Of course, she’d watched the previous ones and had known the men in the CSMs, but nothing compared to having the man she loved secured inside.

The butterflies had done nothing to lessen as the shuttle-bus carried her ever closer to the grandstand. She could see the rocket, plain as day and already venting during the pre-launch countdown. What was it like for him up there? All suited up and strapped in? Just waiting for the clock to strike zero. She drew another deep breath as the shuttle-bus pulled to a stop and she stepped out into the bright morning light.

It was easy to move through the assembled crowd. She wasn’t a name that everyone had to gladhand, and no one of any importance had linked her as Killian’s mystery love. It was just under ten minutes to go and her heart raced. Her eyes flitted between the countdown clock and the rocket in the distance, perched and venting - poised like a caged animal on the brink of escape with all the fury she possessed.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret’s voice reached her, the pregnant woman coming up to her side.

She couldn’t help but be jealous of the astronaut's wife - Mary Margaret was the perfect picture of proud composure, of beaming love, and cool elegance. Then again, she’d had two other times to watch her husband shoot off into space. Somehow Emma doubted that was the cause of her valiant grace, though. Mary Margaret had always made Emma feel like she was in the presence of a modern day princess. “Oh, Emma - I’m so glad you’re here. Regina and I weren’t sure if you would be.”

She nodded quickly, the motion jerky with nerves. “I...I would be anyway. Perk of the job includes a front-row seat to every launch.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes softened with infinite understanding. “But this isn’t just like every other launch, is it?” A sigh finished her words, sounding a bit nervous even to Emma’s ears before her face brightened with a smile. “But you must watch the launch with us. You’re in the club, and we’ll have to stick together.”

Emma’s face lit with an appreciative smile, finding some of her anxiety lessen as she followed Mary Margaret up the bleacher steps to sit next to Regina. And, goodness, if Mary Margaret comported herself like a princess, then Regina was truly a queen. Her expression betrayed no hint of nerves or excitement, rather the quiet pride of a woman who knew how she felt but didn’t give a wit if anyone else did. She nodded as Emma took her seat next to Mary Margaret. “Nice of you to join us, Emma.”

“Oh, I...I wouldn’t miss it.” She tried for nonchalance, failing miserably as she glanced back at the countdown clock. T minus 06:48.

“He’s going to be just fine, you know.” Mary Margaret’s voice carried soft, warm, and so full of conviction. “They all will be.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Regina scoffed, “let her be a nervous wreck. You and I both know there are no truly comforting words for the first time that 250,000 miles and one atmosphere come between you and your love.”

A disembodied voice came over the loudspeakers. One that she recognized all too well - the Public Affairs Officer. _“T minus 4 minutes, 50 seconds and counting. The astronauts will have a few more reports coming up in the countdown. The last business report will be from David Nolan at the 45-second mark in the count when he gives the status on the final alignment of the Stabilization and Control System. We’re now passing the 4 minute, 30 second mark in the countdown - still Go at this time.”_

Emma didn’t think her heart could race any faster.

Mary Margaret reached for her hand, holding it gently. “Was he so excited? When you last spoke with him?”

“I haven’t talked with him since the morning he went into quarantine,” she flushed, all too late realizing the implication of her words, “but yes, he was excited. And ready, eager - so sure of everything. And I…,” she paused for a breath, surprised to find that talking about him - _this_ \- was actually helping. “I’m so happy for him, and proud...but it’s still so dangerous and I can’t…. Any one of a million things could go wrong.” She couldn’t help but think to the days when she watched the harrowing coverage of Apollo 13. But the program had come so far, surely - surely they were miles away from another repeat disaster. Right?

_“....We are Go for Apollo 19. We’ll go on an automatic sequence starting at 3 minutes and 7 seconds. In the final abort check between several key members of the crew here in the Launch Control Center and the astronauts, Launch Operations Manager Bryce Tolliver wished the crew, on the launch teams’ behalf, ‘Good luck and Godspeed.’”_

Regina blew an uncharacteristically shaky breath. “Sure, any number of a million things could go wrong. But that’s their jobs - it’s what they’ve all trained for. And they will do whatever it takes to come back home. That’s something you can _always_ count on.”

“ _...All still Go at this time. David Nolan reported back when he received the good wishes: 'Thank you very much. We know it will be a good flight. See you in two weeks.' Firing command coming in now. We are on the automatic sequence. T minus 3 - we are Go with all elements of the mission at this time.”_

Mary Margaret’s breath caught in her throat but her smile never faltered. Emma squeezed her hand without thinking, feeling Mary Margaret instantly return the hold. None of them could tear their eyes away from the rocket, watching it steam and gleam in the sunlight.

“ _The target for the Apollo 19 astronauts, the Moon, at lift-off will be at a distance of 218,096 miles away. T-minus 1 minute, 54 seconds and counting. We continue to build pressure in all three rocket stages here at the last minute to prepare for lift-off….”_

Emma's heart pounded. She wanted to cry, she wanted to run, she wanted to laugh, she wanted to scream. Mary Margaret shot to her feet and Emma followed her. Regina stood instantly with them as the clock ticked.

“ _We’ve passed T minus 60. 55 seconds and counting. David Nolan just reported back: 'Couldn’t have asked for a better countdown.' 40 seconds away from the Apollo 19 lift-off. All stage tanks are now pressurized. 35 seconds and counting. We are still Go with Apollo 19. 30 seconds and counting. Astronauts report: 'Everything feels good.' T minus 15 seconds, guidance is internal. Twelve, 11, 10, 9, ignition sequence starts…”_

Flame erupted from the base of the rocket, smoke engulfing it just as quick. A trembling whimper tore from Mary Margaret's throat as Regina's hand landed on top of her and Emma's still enclosed hands. Emma's other hand landed on top of Regina's as the three women clung to each other watching, waiting, transfixed.

_“...3, 2, 1, zero. All engines running - LIFT-OFF! We have a lift-off, 48 minutes past the hour. Lift-off on Apollo 19.”_

The concussion from ignition reached her ears, reverberating in her chest. And all so slowly - the rocket started to move, gaining in speed and acceleration as she lifted off.

Emma didn't even register the tears on her cheek as the rocket cleared the tower, leaving nothing but a column of flame and smoke in its wake, and applause thundering in her ears.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission begins.

By +005:21:05 on the mission clock, he nailed transposition, docking and extraction. Of course, he did. Capturing and commandeering ships was a pirate’s specialty, after all.

Killian had trained for four years to execute the critical 2-hour procedure of connecting the command module to the lunar module for the journey to the moon. It was a process he could just about do in his sleep. And bloody good thing, too.

The exhilaration of launch and those first moments of true weightlessness had been unlike anything he’d ever known. So much better than any ride on the vomit comet by far and away. He found the sheer awe of the experience breathtaking, staring in wonderment at the expanse of stars out his window, at the aimless floating of his suit helmet and gloves as he shed his white flight suit.

David and Robin teased him mercilessly for the first ten minutes despite their own joy and satisfaction with the launch. But then, it was time to go to work. David and Killian switched seats, and Killian did what he did best.

With the LM secure, it was time to put Earth in the rearview mirror. He keyed the trajectory into the guidance computer, already beginning to feel an ache grow in the small of his back.

He’d been well educated that the realities of spaceflight were far harsher – and more disgusting – than any of the glamorous images portrayed in the newspaper. In fact, by modern standards, the living conditions were downright inhospitable, yet somehow he felt he’d be right at home on an eighteenth-century sailing ship. Albeit, one configured for the vacuum of space.

By +019:01:19, his back ached endlessly. David warned him no manner of onboard pain medication would provide relief, and of course, he was right. All Killian could do was curve his back into the fetal position and enjoy a few minutes of pain-free relief in between tasks. But he wasn’t the only one – in fact, it was a noted symptom of astronauts on every lunar mission. The flight surgeons couldn’t say exactly what caused it, but the theory they spouted mattered little. He just wanted to know how to cure the damn discomfort. 

At +032:40:37, exhaustion became standard. He’d never found sleep so hard to come by – even on the nights back in bed on Earth when his mind wouldn't stop lingering on Gold's threats. Between the never abating stream of sunlight, ambient noises from pumps and compressors, non-essential communications from Houston, and a sleeping bag that didn’t allow him to curl into a fetal position to ease the pain in his back, it was a miracle if he logged more than two hours of consecutive sleep at a time. Sure, there were sedatives on board, but rum gave him better hangovers than those drugs.

And truly, the less said about the human solid waste management system, the better. Whoever had the bloody brilliant idea to put the galley and waste management areas within a foot of each other needed to be fired. With sleep deprivation and touches of space sickness already lessening his appetite, he didn’t need the general odors and mess from the waste management area to make food even less appetizing. At Robin's suggestion, he might just keep taking Lomotil until splashdown.

And that was all to say nothing of the _real_ problem at hand.

He rubbed at the growing itch of stubble on his chin, tucking his knees into his chest as he aimlessly floated. The familiar thunk of the hot water pump echoed in the CSM and he glanced over at David connecting a food pouch for hydration.

So far, Killian hadn’t been the most successful at switching rations with David. There was only so many times he could play absent-minded, pretending not to care about the food name labels before he attracted a reprimand. He knew he should just tell them- he knew that before the mission clock hit +000:00:00.  And now - they were finally alone and not even Gold’s people could install a secret listening device here.

Right?

But so far, the days had passed uneventfully and David showed no signs of physical or mental impairment. And surely, when whatever was in his food started to affect him – surely, the flight surgeon would start to notice some anomalies. The biomonitor harnesses that they each wore broadcasted a lot of varying information about their vitals – blood pressure, cardiac rhythms, respiration rates. Surely, some combination of those and the other signals would alert the surgeon before anything too untoward happened. Right?

At least, he bloody well hoped so. He didn't even want to consider that, perhaps, the flight surgeon also worked for Gold. 

Gentle music floated through the module, stealing his attention as Robin unkeyed his mic, looking up from his notebook. “What’s on the menu today?”

David smiled as he turned, sending a food pouch towards Robin. “Beef stroganoff with mushrooms.”

Killian watched as the pouch labeled ‘MILLS’ floated by him. With David preparing this meal, it would be harder to affect a switch, but zero g was a funny thing.

“ _19, this is Houston. A little more information based on our analysis of your last burn: it looks like you got a good, solid burn. We show 94 psi chamber pressure and it looks like the propulsion system is definitely Go. Over.”_

Robin groaned through a mouthful of food, struggling to chew and swallow quickly, but David let go a food pouch to key his mic. “ _Good to hear it._ ”

Killian reached out for the errant pouch, disappointed to see his name splayed across it.

_“Roger. We thought you’d feel that way about it.”_

“Here, Hook,” David extended a hand, another food pouch floating by, “let me get that hydrated.”

He pulled his mouth to a small smile, handing the pouch over. “Cheers, mate.”

Robin hummed through a bite. “You know, this is actually, surprisingly good. I think they’re getting better at compensating for our dampened taste-buds with all this oxygen enriched air.”

“ _19, this is Houston. Do you copy?”_

Killian keyed his mic, reaching for the floating pouch. “ _We’re in the middle of beef stroganoff. That’s probably why we’re not answering you right away.”_

“ _Okay. Well, we don’t want to interrupt.”_

Robin smiled. _“My compliments to the chef. That beef stroganoff is outstanding.”_

_“Roger. Understand that’s the beef stroganoff. Over.”_

Killian tore into the food pouch, discretely taking note of the 'NOLAN' label. He bobbed his head along to the cheery tune, humming softly as he took a bite around a pleased smile. If there was indeed anything in David's food, it must be tasteless. Not that his sense of taste was great in the environment of the CSM as Robin said, but it still tasted like beef stroganoff to him. At least, this was one meal he could chalk up to a victory.

Music - now 'Angel of the Morning' - continued to fill the CSM and he couldn't help but think of Emma. She had indeed been quite the angel in the early morning light, her creamy skin glowing softly. If he could wake to that sight for the rest of his life, he would gladly pay any required penance. He swallowed another damning bite. 

"Hey, Hook - you're eating my rations." 

Killian looked down, feigning disbelief as glanced back up to David. "Sorry, mate. I thought this was mine....Surely, ours can't be that different - you go ahead and eat mine since I've already started on yours." 

"Next time, just look alright?" David's face held a loosely chiding edge as opened the pouch and took a slurping bite. “Though I have to agree - it's not bad for food in a bag.”

Killian nodded. “I’ve certainly had worse chow in the service…beware the RAF dehydrated roast beef.”

Robin pulled a face. “Can’t be as bad as navy eggs. Powdered, rubbery garbage. They made sponges sound more appetizing.”

David chuckled softly. “Chicken soup took out half of my squad, once.”

Killian quirked a brow. “Chicken undercooked?”

David shook his head. “Bad mushrooms. Come to find out, they hadn't been properly cleaned.”

The other two men recoiled, grimacing.

“If I’d known then that they were going to use them anyway,” David’s mouth pinched with distant annoyance, “I sure as hell would have stopped them. We lost two days on that patrol with half the crew losing their stomachs.”

“Sounds lovely,” Robin turned towards the window, “if we see any space mushrooms on the way, I vote we stop. Try them out.”

_“19, Houston.”_

With a chuckle, David keyed his mic. _“Go ahead.”_

_“Roger. On that O2 transducer, our values agree pretty well with what you read onboard, but it still looks like the indicated rate is lower than what we would expect. We’re still working on the problem, and we’ll let you have a more complete diagnosis on it in a little while.”_

Killian hummed, singing along softly with the music as David keyed his mic. _“Okay. It’s a tight fix, then.”_

Robin pressed his mic. _“We run a tight ship.”_

_“Roger. Is that music I hear in the background?”_

David looked to Killian with an amused grin. _“Hook is singing.”_

_“Okay. Our man with the band."_

Killian chuckled through a mouthful, watching David take another bite. Music still played and he couldn't deny his satisfaction in the current moment. 

For now - things were fine. He had time. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma cannot believe it.

Director Midas slapped the newspaper down on his desk, huffing in frustration. “I _told_ you this office didn’t need a scandal!”

The image stared back at Emma. Just Mary Margaret, Regina, and herself on launch day in the grandstands. Their hands were all interlocked, gazes intently focused on the scene in front of them. Of course, that angle prominently showed the large, bulky masculine watch on her left wrist. The most moving part of the entire photo was the jumble telltale of emotions on each woman’s face - pride, anxiety, love.

But the headline clinched everything. **THE WOMEN OF APOLLO 19 – JONES’ MYSTERY LOVE IDENTIFIED?**

Emma winced, biting her lip. “It’s not a scandal –”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Midas continued, pacing behind his desk, “the PR office has been bombarded with calls all day. Everyone’s clambering to get you three ladies to sit for a piece – to tell the story behind the emotional photo. “

Emma shook her head. “It wasn’t like that…I didn’t think that it would be –

”Of course, you didn’t think. Going by the look on your face, you were clearly only thinking about one thing – about one person.” He sighed, running a hand over his balding head as he stopped to look at her.

She could feel her cheeks flush as his scrutiny continued. Was…did she miss a button on her blouse? Was her makeup smudged?

Midas forced a hard swallow as he gestured to her left arm. “That _is_ Jones' watch, right?”

Her hand covered it quickly, protectively. She dropped her gaze, feeling embarrassment burn brighter. “Yes…it is.”

“Well, I’m glad the papers didn’t misinterpret that.” He dropped into his chair with a huff, rocking back and forth with an agitated motion. He propped an elbow on the armrest, tapping a thick finger against the side of his face. “Well…what are we going to do about this, Emma? How serious is it?”

She fidgeted uncomfortably. The nature of her relationship with Killian shouldn’t be anyone’s business…but maybe she should have thought of that before it ended up on the front page. She drew a deep breath, searching for words. “It’s…well, complicated, I guess. Long distance, right now…,” she exhaled nervously, “he’s coming back for his watch….”

He nodded slowly. “You could just say that you love him - your face on page one says at least that much.”

Her cheeks burned hotter. “Yes…I do.”

“And he loves you, presumably?”

She fixed him with an irritated look, wanting to be finished with this entire conversation. “Yes – obviously. I’m wearing the man’s watch for a reason.”

“But not a ring?”

She scoffed in disbelief. “Could you imagine the media storm if he was photographed in a jewelry shop, buying a ring before launch?”

A sigh punched from Midas’ chest as his hand dropped to the armrest with an air of finality. “Then, I guess that settles it…,” he shifted in his chair as her heart stopped, braced for the worst, “I’ll talk with security about assigning you a detail. We should be able to issue an official statement that neither confirms nor denies but asks for your privacy at this time – unless you want to make a public statement or sit with the other wives for a TV spot?”

Her eyes widened, stunned. “…what?” She blinked, trying to understand. “You’re not….I’m not…fired?”

Midas huffed a perturbed breath, not quite rolling his eyes. “Why would I fire you? You’re not in breach of your job duties, and quite frankly, you’re the best secretary I’ve had in years. Besides, if the press got wind that we fired the nearly-Mrs.-Captain-Jones, then there’d be a whole different kind of hell to pay.”

She froze, still unable to believe what she was hearing. The nearly Mrs. Captain Jones? Something about that made her heart skip a beat, recalling all the warm words that passed between them on his last morning before quarantine. She shook her head, sighing. “I…I don’t know what to say. Except – no, um, I don’t want to make any public statements. Privacy is good. At least, until he gets back, certainly.”

“Of course.” He flashed a warm smile. “Mrs. Nolan and Mrs. Mills are due to fly back to Houston tonight, and attend Apollo 19’s TV broadcast live from the Mission Control viewing room. While it’s only been less than 48 hours for them since speaking with their husbands, I know that you haven’t spoken with Jones since before he went into quarantine.”

She remembered that conversation quite vividly – neither one of them had wanted to go so public. Too bad the media made that decision for them.

Midas continued, his smile widening. “But I suppose I can give you a 36 hour leave to travel with Mrs. Nolan and Mrs. Mills to Houston for the broadcast. You won’t be able to speak with him directly, but you’ll be able to see him free of the network editing and news coverage.”

Emma nearly fell out of her chair.

* * *

The fabric of the viewing room chairs itched through her pantyhose but she was too anxious to care. Everything had changed since leaving Midas’ office. A chauffeured car took her everywhere, and attendants stood watch on Granny’s lawn to keep pesky reporters from snooping. She’d even arrived to the tarmac in grand style, along with Mary Margaret and Regina, for the journey to Texas.

And now that she sat here in the Mission Control viewing suite? Looking out over the flashing consoles and lit screens as men in shirts and ties buzzed about, reporting status and taking readings. Nothing in her life had ever felt so surreal.

But not as surreal as the image that flashed on the gigantic screen at the front of the room. It was the Earth…half of it, bright blue and covered in swirling clouds. The image brought an awestruck smile to her face – she couldn’t imagine what it must be like for them to see it first-hand.

_“Okay, 19. We have a picture. We see the Earth right in the center of the screen. Over.”_

David’s strong voice carried over the radio with an electronic tenor. _“Roger, Houston. Apollo 19 calling in from about 130,000 miles. Our camera is currently zoomed in with the most magnification we can get. Over.”_

Mary Margaret’s breath caught to hear his voice, her smile radiant and reassured.

_“19, Houston. The definition is pretty good on our monitor here. Could you describe what we’re looking at?”_

David’s soft chuckle sounded. _“Roger. You’re seeing Earth, as we see it out our left-hand window. Well, just a little more than a half Earth. At the top – we can see North America including the US, Canada and Mexico. South America becomes invisible just inside the shadow.”_

_“You guys are doing a good job. It’s a real steady picture, here. Clarity is excellent – the whites are distinct. The rest of it looks…a fairly greenish-blue is the way I’d describe it. Over.”_

Robin’s gentle tone cut in. _“Well, we can’t observe much green from the spacecraft. We don’t have the depths of color at this range that we enjoyed at 50,000 miles out. However, the oceans are still a definite blue and the continents are generally brownish in cast, though, they look grayer by the minute.”_

Regina couldn’t hold back a proud smile at the sound of her husband’s voice.  Something about it made Emma smile – for such a closed-off woman, it was such a revealing expression.

Another beep came over the line followed by the one voice she longed to hear most. _“Alright, world – batten your hatches. I’m going to turn you upside down.”_

The image of the Earth started to drift ever so slightly, and rotate. It was almost dizzying to watch the image turn seamlessly upside down – a perfect mirror to what it had been. A nearly impossible feat here on Earth.

Houston beeped in. _“19, that’s a pretty good roll. That practice did you some good.”_  The camera jumped, herky-jerky as the image of Earth bounced around on the screen. _“Oops! Spoke too soon.”_

The image continued to roll and jump as Killian’s laughter echoed gently – a balm Emma hadn’t realized she needed. _“Think I’m making everyone a little seasick doing it. I’ll just put you back right-side up where you belong._ ” The image of Earth righted and stabilized, looking so still and peaceful. _“You certainly don’t get to do that every day.”_

_“19, Houston. If you could comply, we’d like to see little smiling faces up there, if you could give us interior views. I know everybody would like to see you. Over.”_

David’s voice filtered over the line. “ _Okay. We’ll configure for that.”_ The image of the Earth disappeared from the big screen, leaving a blank, dark screen.

Mary Margaret gasped excitedly. “This is always the best part – they always look so happy.”

“But so grungy.” Regina added, wrinkling her nose. “Robin’s hair turns oily so quickly. And his scruff shows up as this garish red color.”

Mary Margaret laughed softly. “David wishes he could grow facial hair so quickly, and what he can grow is so fair in color, it’s hard to see.”

The camera flashed back to life – a blur of black, oranges, yellows and flashes of white.

_“Apollo 19, Houston. It appears that we can see a floodlight off to the left, either that or some sun shafting through the hatch window.”_

David came back on the line. _“It’s a floodlight…getting the interior lighting reconfigured.”_ A head popped into view – a head of dark, disheveled hair.

_“Now you’re coming in. Can’t quite make out who’s head that is.”_  The camera panned down to Killian’s bright eyes and wide smile as he floated, hand wrapped around a nearby handle. _“It’s our resident pirate Jones.”_

Killian’s smile pulled wider and Emma couldn’t look away from him as he keyed his mic. _“Aye, mate. You've got a little bit of me, plus David in the center couch, and Robin is doing the camera work this time.”_

Mary Margaret laughed softly, nudging Emma gently. “You should be proud – he wears the space scuzz well!”

Emma chuckled softly and couldn’t disagree – a dusting of dark stubble covered his jaw and his hair looked no less untouchable. The top catches of his suit were undone as he hovered and he looked so happy, so content. She couldn’t wait to hold him close again and hear every detail.

Killian shook his head. _“I’d have put on a coat and tie if I’d known about this ahead of time.”_

_“Is that David holding the cue cards for you? Over.”_

David’s mic keyed in as he hovered in the right side of the screen, his face just out of view. _“Cue cards are a solid ‘no.’ We have no interest in competing with the professionals, believe me,”_ he chuckled softly, _“but we do have quite a comfortable, happy little home up here.”_

Killian nodded _. “Surprisingly, there’s plenty of room for the three of us, and I think we’re all learning to find our favorite little corner to sit in. Zero G isn't bad, but after a while, you get to the point where you sort of get tired rattling about and banging off the ceiling, the floor, the bulkheads…so, you tend to find a little corner somewhere to put your knees up, or wedge yourself in. And that seems more at home.”_

_“Roger. Looks like David is coming in there, 19.  It’s a real good picture we’re getting of Commander Nolan.”_

Mary Margaret laughed softly as David shuffled about in the frame, filling the camera with a close-up white flash of his uniform. He came back into focus, only with his face upside down and the rest of his body disappearing out the top of screen.

Killian beeped back on the line. _“Yeah, David’s standing on his head again. He’s trying to make me nervous. Disappearing up into the tunnel as he would going into the Lunar Module. Only, you know, backwards.”_

Robin’s chuckle sounded as the camera shook ever so slightly. “ _Now, if we can get some of these wires untangled here, we’ll show you our food cabinet. Looks like it’s probably almost your dinner time down there, Earth.”_

Regina shook her head with a smirk. “Always a hungry one. I don’t know how they do it - living off powdered food.”

The camera panned down a to a white box as Killian flipped the lid.

_“19, Houston. We see a box of goodies there. Over.”_

Killian shone a flashlight over the box’s contents. _“And we really have them, mate. We’ve got all kinds of good stuff  - coffee, of course. Oh, and tea - cheers for that! Each pouch comes labeled with our names and we just add hot water, mush it up and slice the end off of it._ ” He fished a packet from the cabinet, the name ‘MILLS’ clearly visible. “ _And there you go, Robin’s beautiful chicken stew.”_

_“Sounds delicious.”_

Robin’s mic keyed in offscreen. _“Yeah, the food so far has been very good. We couldn’t be happier with it.”_

_“Roger. The surgeons are saying thank you for that.”_

A brief pause followed as they watched Killian seal up the food cabinet, the flashlight drifting next to his head, crashing gently into him before he finished the task. It looked rather cumbersome to Emma, watching his arms and legs seem to float away from him even as he tried to accomplish the simple task of zipping a lid. Would it be weird for him to come back to gravity? Would he tire easily?

“ _Apollo 19, Houston. We’re really impressed with the clarity and the detail that we have in the picture. We’re looking at the controls in the display as Robin pans back around - and we can read the position display.”_

David’s voice drifted in. _“It would be nice if you could take a look at all the panel circuit breakers. Make sure the right ones are in and the right ones are out.”_

_“Roger. Big Brother’s watching.”_

Robin spoke up. “ _And we’re glad of it.”_

David joined back in. “ _Your team has been doing a great job of watching us, Houston. We appreciate it.”_

_“The spacecraft’s been beautiful, 19. We’ve really no complaints at all. Looks - things are really great.”_

The camera shifted, the picture drifting slightly - but somehow, they managed to just squeeze all three of their faces into frame. David was still upside down, having come back from the LM, and only halves of Robin and Killian’s faces were visible. But it was more than enough. In fact, it was perfect.

David’s smile beamed wide. “ _Roger, Houston. And that’s a perfect note to wish everyone on Earth a good evening. So with that, this is Apollo 19 signing off.”_

_“Roger, Apollo 19. Thank you much for the show. Appreciate it.”_

Emma kept her gaze fixed on Killian until the image winked to black.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian - and David's - time is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face, glancing blearily out from his sleeping bag. His visor rested against the oily skin of his forehead as he looked over at David. In the harsh floodlight of the CSM, Killian could see the dark circles under his commander's eyes and the muddled look as he, too, struggled to process the sudden wake up.

David fumbled a hand from his sleeping bag, keying his mic. “ _Houston, Apollo 19.”_

Distant static echoed across the line as the sound of Robin’s yawn filled the module. “Could have used a little more sleep.”

“Aye.” Killian agreed, squinting against the unrelenting sunlight that poured in from window five. Without sunsets and sunrises, the CSM stayed in a constant state of blinding light and pitch-black darkness.

David blinked blearily. “Yeah, me too.” He reached again for his mic. “ _Hello, Houston. Apollo 19.”_

_“Apollo 19, Houston. Good morning.”_

Robin finished a stretch before reaching for his mic. “ _Good morning. Are you still planning Midcourse Correction 4 this morning?”_

Killian glanced out window two, just able to see the rocky, cratered surface of the moon growing ever steadily closer. In a few few hours, they would pass into the Moon’s shadow, on their way to entering lunar orbit. His mouth quirked to a sleepy smile. He would get to see his very first Earthrise.

“ _That’s negative, 19. Midcourse 4 is not required. We were going to let you sleep in until about 71 hours if you’d like to turn over.”_

All three heads swiveled to the mission clock. +069:04:49.

David keyed in. “ _Okay. That’ll be fine. We’ll turn over.”_

Killian nodded, keying in. “ _Aye, mate. I’ll see you at 71 hours.”_

A low laugh sounded from Mission Control. “ _Roger, 19.”_

Robin groaned, reaching for his sleep mask. “Thank God. See you boys in two hours.”

Neither David nor Killian responded as the other man hunkered down in his sleeping bag. Instead, they each snuggled down as best they could, shifting their masks back in place in search of two more hours of sleep.

Unfortunately, the quiet times were Killian’s least favorite. When they were awake - there was always something to keep distracted. Relaying planet landmass and weather conditions. Taking measurements, adjusting course. Singing to music and laughing at Robin’s stash of jokes. But when it was just down to the quiet of Killian’s mind - he wondered. Worried and wondered.

This was their fourth day in the mission - the third morning to wake up confined in their CSM sleeping bags. And nothing had happened. Not one blip. Not one anomaly. Not one report from the flight surgeon on David's health readings.

He'd had marginal success in accidentally mixing up food packets but he still knew he lived on borrowed time. It wouldn't do to wake David and tell him now but that thought did little to ease him into a peaceful sleep. Between that and the pain in his back, he tossed fitfully against the confines of his sleeping bag for the better part of two hours.

A chime went off and he pulled his sleep mask off altogether. There wasn’t a need to pretend anymore.

David and Robin made similar movements, stowing their sleep gear and stretching out in the CSM confines.

“ _Apollo 19, Apollo 19, this is Houston. Over.”_

Robin reached for his mic. “ _Good morning again, Houston. Apollo 19.”_

_“Roger, 19. Good morning. When you get settled with breakfast…”_

David reached for his mic, still looking half-awake. “ _Would you still like the O2 purge this morning?”_

_“Yes, indeed. O2 fuel cell purge at 71 hours, and when you feel like copying, I’ve got a Flight Plan update coming - I guess that and some other items for you.”_

Robin nodded even though Mission Control couldn't see it. “ _Okay. Stand by.”_

David looked around the CSM, as if just realizing where they were and what they had to do. “Alright - let’s...get some coffee together. Robin, you start taking down the Flight Plan Update.” He looked over at Killian. “We’ll get breakfast hydrated.”

Killian glanced back at David, concern eating into his gaze but he nodded. With minor shuffling, Robin keyed his mic back to Houston and started to take notes on the plan for the morning as David and Killian listened in. But as Killian watched David navigate the food cabinet and hot water spigot, something wasn’t right.

Sure, the man hadn’t had coffee yet, but the sluggishness to his movements spoke to something more than just drowsiness. David was always a bright morning person, and this wasn’t just a case of waking up on the wrong side of his sleeping bag. His movements were lethargic and just this side of uncoordinated. Prominent, dark circles sat under his eyes casting a sallow glow to his skin. None of them had bathed in days nor had any of them received a good night's sleep since launch, but this...this was something else. Something that instantly soured Killian's stomach and sent fear rippling down his spine.

It made him want to call down to the flight surgeon, see if anything read abnormally on David's biomonitors. But he certainly couldn’t do that without alerting the wide world to his concern. A concern that David would certainly not appreciate being broadcast without cause.

David handed Robin’s hydrated breakfast off before keying his mic. “ _Okay, we’ll get started on the fuel cell purge while we’re eating.”_ He turned for the master console, taking a bite of his own food before going back on the line. “ _CO2 canister charge number 6; secondary radiator flow check….”_

Killian watched on, a furrow in his brow as he ate, bobbing silently. If he couldn’t bloody well call down to the flight surgeon, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to take his eyes of David.

His suspicions only grew after the morning coffee failed to have little impact on David’s overall presence of mind. Yes, he was able to step through the rest of the fuel cell purge without incident, but there was definitely something off. If Robin sensed it too, the man said nothing - again, probably because they couldn’t say anything without David overhearing it. And it was their job to support each other even on the off-days.

But if anything, as the morning progressed, David seemed to grow more and more tired. His eyes struggled to stay open, and his vision looked less and less focused.

Robin nodded on the receipt of cryo tank balancing instructions. “ _Okay. Stand by one, on those switches. We’ll get them in a minute.”_

The metallic clicks of switches and contacts sounded from the console while Robin worked and Killian continued to watch David. The man's eyes blinked closed for just a fraction too long, face falling slack. How in the bloody hell was the flight surgeon not reading anything anomalous in David’s biomonitors? Cold fear dropped like lead in Killian's stomach as he keyed his mic. “ _Houston, 19.”_

_“Go ahead, 19.”_

Killian’s gaze was heavy with concern. “ _Request status readout of Commander Nolan’s biomonit – David!”_

Consciousness fled the commander altogether, eyes sinking closed as he drifted lifelessly. Robin rushed instantly to his side, as did Killian.

“ _19, Houston – surgeon reports Commander Nolan’s blood pressure is dropping to alarming levels. Cardiac rhythms are slowing, and respiration rate decreasing.”_

Robin reached for his mic switch as he and Killian cradled David’s head to keep it upright. “ _He’s unconscious, Houston.”_

Guilt tore at Killian as they did the only thing they could – with gentle movements, they maneuvered him to the side of the CSM. Killian held him steady, attempting to keep his head from bumping into something, while Robin reached for the cabinet of stowed sleeping bags.

“ _Copy, 19. Was he displaying an abnormal symptoms?”_

Robin keyed his mic first. “ _He looked tired. We all do –.”_

_“19 – the surgeon asks if he took a sedative last night?”_

Killian shook his head, concern pinching his brow as he pressed on his mic. “ _Negative – he did not.”_

Robin scoffed as he set up David’s sack. “The most worthless pills onboard.”

Killian’s lips pulled to a weak smile. He couldn’t help but agree. He'd take this groggy sleep-deprivation over the medically induced discombobulated haze offered by the onboard sedatives. Nothing would be worse if an emergency arose.

_“19, Houston. Surgeon advises that Commander Nolan’s blood pressure has stabilized at low levels. Breathing patterns are steady, but weak. Without blood work, the best diagnoses point to a metabolic imbalance or even severe dehydration. Situate him in his sleeping bag until he regains consciousness.”_

Killian frowned but reached for his mic. “ _Copy that, Houston.”_

Bloody hell. He was too fucking late. Whatever it was - it had caught up to David. He bloody well knew it wasn't dehydration. And the fucking flight surgeon should know that, too. Unless...unless the flight surgeon worked for Gold, too. Bloody _fucking_ hell. Why had he not assumed that earlier?

His mouth tensed to a tight line as he reached for David's feet, helping guide him into the sleeping bag.

Robin hedged a hesitant glance. “You’re not satisfied with the direction from Houston."

“No, mate. Losing consciousness without warning and calling it an imbalance or due to lack of water sounds like utter rubbish.” His mouth curled with frustration, shame and self-loathing eating at him. “It just doesn’t feel right. This…this is something else.” He could see the crocodile’s evil smile, hear the cruel words pounding against his skull.

**David Nolan will not reach the moon. David Nolan will not reach the moon.**

“I have to agree,” Robin sighed, doing up the snaps on David’s sleeping bag, “he’s had just as much water as you and me. And he’s eaten the same food.”

_“Apollo 19, Houston. Be advised, we are updating mission operational parameters based on this development. We will have an update for you in five minutes on my mark. Mark.”_

Killian’s stomach soured further. Updated mission operational parameters. That could only mean one thing.

Robin’s face fell, tense frustration and disappointment surfacing. “Shit…this just cost us the moon, didn’t it?” He raked a hand through his oily hair, lips pursing tight. "Fucking hell."

“I can’t see how it wouldn’t…,” Killian admitted, dejected, “they can’t send you down there alone, and until they can diagnose whatever’s wrong with David – we shouldn’t leave him alone up here.”

Robin’s fists clenched in frustration as he whipped around to look out the window where the moon loomed, so close, so promising. “We’re so damn close…like you could just reach out and touch it.”

Killian debated reaching out with a modicum of comfort, trying to conjure words. But he knew – he knew what this was. Even worse, he knew that he was responsible.

“ _Apollo 19, Houston. Five-minute mark update – the word just came down from Mission Command to Flight. Apollo 19 lunar landing is a no-go with this development. Repeat, all lunar excursion and surface operations are no-go status for duration of the mission. We are developing trajectories to use lunar orbit to launch you back towards Earth. Please acknowledge.”_

Robin’s teeth clenched, arm shaking as he reached for his mic. “ _Houston, 19. Acknowledged.”_  He released his mic to exhale a deep sigh before keying back in. “ _Standing by for revised trajectory._ Goddamn it!” He again raked angry hands through his hair. “This module is not big enough for my anger.”

Killian wanted to agree, his own emotions eating him alive. But it didn’t seem appropriate to voice the sentiment. Instead, he settled for staring at David’s blank face, eyes closed above the prominent dark circles, as his mind spun.

Now. Now was the time. The moon had been lost to them long before launch, but there was still a chance to save David's life. There had to be. He refused to let it end like this. To let Gold win.

“…Killian?” The touch of Robin’s hand on his arm jarred him from his thoughts, turning to look at his fellow crewmate. “Hey, you alright? Been trying to get your attention….”

“Yeah, mate…I’m….,” he looked back to the food cabinet, gulping hard before turning back with a hesitant edge, “I’m afraid…that I haven’t been entirely honest with you…and David.”

Robin’s face darkened, his jaw tensing as his eyes narrowed with betrayal. “What are you saying...what did you do?” His voice was soft with quiet rage. “What did you _fucking do_?” He flew at Killian, fisting a hand tight in the front of Killian’s suit to wrench him around in the tight space.

“I didn’t do anything to directly hurt David – I…I,” he grappled for words against the rage in Robin’s eyes, “I did what I had to do to protect the people I love.”

“Which was what _exactly?”_

Killian stomach lurched to his throat. “Smuggled a copy of David’s medical eval and bloodwork out of KSC. They used it to tamper with his rations."

Robin’s eyes flashed, easily putting the rest of the pieces together. “You...backstabbing bastard!” His other hand flew, clenched fist connecting with Killian’s nose. Pain erupted across Killian’s face as he jerked backwards with the motion, blood droplets flying away in the zero g environment. He groaned in pain as he and Robin – both propelled by the motion – slammed into the bulkhead.

“I _know_ I did wrong, mate!” Killian shook his head, desperation in his voice as he feebly attempted to soak up his flowing blood with the sleeve of his suit. "I wanted so desperately to keep them from getting to him. And I placed more people at risk by even trying to investigate."

“You did far worse than that, _mate._ ” Robin spat the word, full of bitter contempt. “You should have gone straight to Mission Command when you were first approached. They…they could have done something to protect your loved ones.”

The corner of Killian’s lip lifted with sad resignation. “Aye, it’s easy for you to say that…but you don’t know the man behind it. What he’s capable of…how far the reach of his arm extends. I mean – bloody hell, he got to David and we’re 200,000 miles from Earth. He excels at undermining government and official authority, so that’s quite frankly the last entity I would have turned to.” He sniffled against the blood in his nose, wincing as pain shot through his head.

“That _in no way_ justifies what you did.”

“I know it doesn’t – I know it’s villainous and its treasonous,” he shook his head heavily, “I'm not trying to be a hero here.”

Robin clenched his jaw, disappointment and broken trust pinching his face. “I’ve half a mind to tell Houston everything _right now_. Maybe they’ll just pronounce sentence and have me flush you out the hatch, rather than keep a traitor on board.”

“I say this not for my sake, but for David’s – don’t tell Houston anything yet. There are people on the inside of NASA who know the scheme – obviously, those who tampered with David’s food – and I’m half convinced the bloody flight surgeon is one of them.” He sniffled again against the throbbing pain. “He _had_ to have seen David’s levels dropping over the past few days – whatever’s in his food must be an accumulation of something, so surely he’s been slipping for days and it just hasn’t been visible.”

Killian shook his head, pleading with his eyes. “I know that you probably don’t believe me, and you have every right – but…there’s more lives at stake here than just David’s.” He reached into the pocket of his suit, pulling out the photograph. It floated in the space over towards Robin, a cruel mockery of such a happy moment. “At first, it was just my niece and nephew that Gold had in his sights. Then, he learned about Emma.”

Robin’s face twisted as he stared down at the photograph, angling it to better see in the floodlight. His blazing eyes cut back to Killian, his brows pinched in mild confusion. “This…this was taken inside the VAB. Before the rocket rolled out.”

Killian nodded slowly. “Aye, it was.”

“How…how did they have men in there?”

“I don’t know…and I don’t know who. The man behind it all – Mr. Gold – doesn’t work at NASA, but he has others. I already told you that I now suspect the flight surgeon is on Gold’s payroll. Or his blackmail list.” Killian swallowed the distant taste of copper. “And if his men could find us in the VAB, then how could I possibly tell anyone about his threats against my loved ones? Who could I trust?”

“Us, Killian.” Robin’s words cut hard. “You should have trusted us. The three of us could have –“

“Could have, what? There was nothing that we could have done to stop Gold!”

“Then, at least, David would have known what you got him into! We could have worked together to figure out the angles from which this Gold-person might have attacked! Instead, we proceeded as mission normal when we should have been on the defensive.”

Killian’s face fell. “If we’d been on the defensive, mate, then everyone on the ground would already be dead.”

Robin shook his head fiercely. “You don’t know that for sure.” He continued to stare back at Killian, searching his face. “But you sure as hell believe it.”

“Aye – I’d rather die first than see my brother’s kids or Emma hurt on my account.”

Robin raised a frustrated hand. “Hold on…just – there’s no need for anyone to die.” He turned to look back at David, lost in thought.

Killian floated silently, also turning to gaze as his commander. He certainly looked lifeless from the confines of his sleeping bag, the harsh floodlight doing the sickly pallor of his skin no favors. Despite Robin’s words, there stood a fair chance that David might actually die out here. Even with a slingshot around the moon, they were still four or five days from splashdown. Sill four or five days before David could get a proper medical diagnosis and treatment.

Was that Gold and the Russians’ plans all along? To kill David Nolan, American space hero? Or just to incapacitate him? Would that foil their plans if David did die?

And if he did die? There would be official investigations, interviews, record reviews, inquiries - all of which might make a flight surgeon, or a med tech, panic. Would that push someone on the ground to make a mistake and betray their allegiance - to give up Gold's whole spy ring inside NASA?

Could they take that chance? There’d be no escaping a confession to his own actions once they reached the ground either way, but if they could control the crowds at splashdown, if they could make Gold's people believe they succeeded…Killian’s mind raced a mile a minute. Cautiously, he looked over at Robin. “I have an idea.”

“I think we’re done with your ideas.”

“Even if its one to save David? I don’t know if Gold’s plan is to kill him and if it is, then there’s nothing like a job well done to make someone let down their guard. And if they didn’t intend to kill him – then certainly, if he died, that would send someone into a panic – and panic leads to mistakes.”

“What, you’re…” Robin’s eyes widened, horrified, “you’re _suggesting_ that we let him die?”

“Good god, man, of course not. But with one clip of his biomonitor harness wire, everyone on the ground will think that he died.”

Robin froze as the knowledge registered. His face morphed with a dark look, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're utterly insane. How did you _ever_ pass the psych evals?”

Killian ground his teeth. “I’m not insane – it makes sense if you think it through. We clip the cable and he flatlines – the flight surgeon can no longer give us direction how to care for him. If – when – he wakes, we give him water. He’ll eat my food rations. Per policy, dead crewmates aren’t ejected into space, so keeping him aboard won’t be an issue. Splashdown will be a heavily restricted, quiet event. We'll be able to control the audience that we speak with in Houston, and if Gold already believes he's won – then, their suspicions won’t be high.” Killian paused, forcing a hard swallow as he watched the gears in Robin’s head turn. “Then once we land, I’ll tell this sordid story and get my fitting punishment, but maybe – just maybe, the true villains will, too.”

Robin’s face drew in. “I hear you, and at this point – I prefer not to trust anyone - the surgeon or you - anymore than I have to. Removing David from the official logs will make that easier. But…do you have any idea what that will do to Mary Margaret?”

And that was the real cost of it. It may be a charade to them, but the grief and heartache would be all too real for her. Killian sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t like the idea anymore than you do. But I’d much rather return David to her alive than spare her temporary grief at the expense of his life.”

Robin turned back to him with a hard stare, the hurt of betrayal warring with the years of forged trust. “I want to believe you. But how can I trust you? You’ve already jeopardized the man’s life once. Who’s to say without Houston watching his vitals that you won’t deal him the killing stroke?”

“Because you and David are the only brothers I have left.” Killian leveled him with a raw stare. “My older brother died years ago, and I was powerless to do nothing but watch – just as I would be powerless to do nothing but watch those kids die from across the ocean if I didn’t meet Gold’s demands. But I wouldn’t be powerless to watch over David – and yes, I’ve failed him so far. But I won’t fail him going forward if I have the choice. That _is_ something you can count on.” He sighed, not sure what else he could say to convince Robin any further. “But now it’s up to you. We’re up here together for five more days, and I’m done hiding.”

Robin sighed in equal parts frustration and resignation. “Yes, yes…we’re already in this together – we’ve been in this together since you fucking stole David’s bloodwork.” He glanced back at their unconscious commander, sighing deeply. “This is so wrong, on multiple levels. You’ve already cost us the moon, and I can’t imagine that David will hate you for anything additional beyond that…but I have to agree with you. It seems the best chance of flushing out the people holding your leash.” Robin sighed. “And even if it isn’t…I don’t know what would work better.” He reached for a nearby compartment, pulling out a small roll of tools. The small pair of cutters floated in the weightless environment as he closed the tool pouch up.

Killian reached out for the cool metal, catching Robin’s inquisitive stare. “Like you said, mate – he likely won’t hate me any worse than he already will. No reason to dirty your hands.” He floated over to David as Robin assisted to undo the zipper of David’s suit, exposing the biomonitor harness and the connecting wires.

Robin nodded firmly. “Do it.”

Killian reached forward and clipped the wire.

David’s heartbeat flatlined and Houston erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgement of truth - this plan would never fly in reality, but I've tried to make it believable for fairy-tale fiction. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loss takes shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy busy bees, batman. Life has completely taken over but this story is not over yet! Though, the end is nigh. 
> 
> And OMG!! The news that Colin is going to portray Lt. Gordon Cooper in 'The Right Stuff' on Nat Geo has 2000% made my day!! To see him suit up for the Mercury Program will be amazing - and personally, I'm super excited for some visual inspiration to go along with this story. :)

Tragedy swept the nation. It was all anyone could talk about.

The scrubbed lunar landing. The death of 36-year old American astronaut, David Nolan. The somber duty that Astronauts Mills and Jones now had to undertake in bringing home his remains.

It still brought tears to Emma’s eyes. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? Within an hour, NASA had not only officially announced the aborted lunar surface operations, but also the passing of Commander Nolan. Details had been sparse – out of respect for the family – but Apollo 19 was already on return trajectory to Earth. No media coverage would be allowed at splashdown. Mills and Jones would not have to enter the customary quarantine with no lunar exposure but would not be made available to the public until the official proceedings concluded. Privacy and prayers were the best the American people – and people of the world – could offer right now.

Killian’s watch had never felt so heavy on her wrist. She should have known such overwhelming happiness couldn’t last. It never had before, yet she mad the choice to believe anyway. The memories of those last happy days washed over her – his sleepy bedhead first thing in the morning, his wicked tongue when they shared milkshakes at the movies, his crystal blue eyes warm with love over candlelit dinners.

How could they ever hope to return to those days now? Especially with the guilt of knowing that Mary Margaret would forever be denied such happiness. Especially when her child would grow up never knowing his or her father.

The uncertainty knotted Emma’s gut the more she lived with it. She wanted answers – how had it happened? What went wrong? What did they miss? She knew better than most that official NASA announcements rarely conveyed even a fraction of the facts. And certainly, when it came to such a sensitive topic, the details were restricted to those with the highest clearance. It probably also didn’t help that the main source of evidence was still 100,000 miles away from Earth. But, still – even the typing pool gossip mill was notoriously lacking in rumors.

Maybe that was more attributable to the dark cloud that hung over KSC. Yes, preparations were starting for the Apollo 20 lunar mission – especially in the wake of Apollo 19’s lunar objectives failing – but gone was the usual air of positivity and optimism. Even Emma could admit to a subdued mood as she went about the motions of her job, wearing Killian’s watch as an ever-present reminder.

And finally, forty-eight hours after making her initial request – Midas granted it.

She smiled at the tech in thanks as he closed the sound-proof booth door and Emma pressed her ear to the phone, listening to the ringtone. The public phone line to the Nolans’ home in Houston had been disconnected due to the flood of incoming calls, but NASA had provided a private phone line for any outgoing calls and only allowing controlled, incoming calls.

“Nolan residence.”

Emma blanched to hear the voice on the phone. “Regina? Hi…it’s Emma.”

A light sigh gusted over the receiver. “Hello, Emma.”

Emma bit her lip, suddenly feeling awkward. “I…I wanted to check in on Mary Margaret. If I were there in person, I’d come by….”

“You couldn’t make it past the throng of news vans and reporters outside. They’re lining the streets, but mostly staying off the Nolan’s lawn.”

“Sounds obnoxious. I’m sure that’s the last thing she wants.”

“Hmm, even the church ladies aren’t immune to the onslaught of questions when they stop by with casseroles.”

Emma smiled sadly. “I wish I could contribute something.”

“Yes, well, not like you can just twitch your nose and make a casserole appear. Besides,” Regina sighed again, “we have more jello-molds and casseroles here than she can eat. Even while eating for two.”

“I’m glad to hear everyone’s being so supportive. And…I’m glad you’re there for her, too.”

“Someone has to keep making the decisions because heaven knows she’s not clear minded enough right now.”

Emma held the phone closer. “How is she doing?”

“She’s understandably despondent, but she’s…it’s not completely the end of her world." Something infinitely raw – vulnerable, even – carried on Regina’s words. "If her marriage to David was worth anything, then they have talked about this eventuality and she accepted it when she accepted his marriage proposal.” 

Emma swallowed hard. “I can’t imagine how close this is hitting home for you, too, Regina.”

“I knew what I signed up for when I married Robin. With both of us having previously lost spouses, we had those hard discussions long before we even discussed marriage. And our love – our relationship – is stronger for it. Just as David and Mary Margaret’s relationship was stronger for it. Yes, it’s gut wrenching and heart breaking – and Mary Margaret has more questions than she knows what to do with, but she has their child. Just as I have Henry and Roland – and that’s worth everything. She knows that David will live as long as his child knows who he is.”

Emma didn’t think she’d ever heard Regina talk so much, but the words tugged a smile to her face. The woman had a deeper, warmer heart than people accused her of. “That’s uplifting to hear.”

“And you’d do well to remember it when Killian comes knocking with a wedding ring.”

Emma’s face froze with surprise, feeling a heat bloom in her cheeks. “Oh, he’s not – we’re not…”

Regina scoffed gently. “Oh, please Emma - you can hide treasure, you can hide a poker hand – but you can’t hide the bloom of true love.”

An anxious flutter lit in her stomach as her eyes landed on Killian’s watch. It certainly spoke to a future – the promise of something yet to be named that made her heart skip a beat. She held the phone tighter, exhaling gently. “I guess we’ll see.” All in the same breath, it seemed wrong to talk about her future happiness so soon after Mary Margaret’s happy ending was cut short.

“Well, I’d offer the phone to Mary Margaret, but she’s resting right now. Goodness, you should see her – she looks ready to burst and she still has two months left. Certainly, all this extra stress is not helping.”

“I can’t imagine that it would. But she’s well, otherwise?”

“Healthy as a horse, strong as an ox, so the doctor says,” a light chuckle accompanied the words, “I’ll be sure to tell her that you called and pass along your warm thoughts.”

“Thank you, Regina.” Emma smiled softly even though the other woman couldn’t see it. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to call again – it was hard enough this time.”

“If she wants to call you back, trust me,” Regina’s voice was firm with conviction, “no NASA suit will stand in our way.”

* * *

Bloody fucking hell.

It was _spreading_. Fast.

At first, the mottling gray-green color had been limited to the tip of his left little finger. But now – thirty hours later – his whole little finger had turned the gnarly, terrifying color. Ominous tendrils now snaked down into his left ring and middle fingers. A general numbness had settled into the digits, the muscle response growing weaker as the mission clock continued to tick.

It lodged a well of terror in Killian's stomach. Helpless to do anything but stare down at his rotting hand. His medical knowledge wasn’t super vast, but he knew this was something serious. Something life-threatening if left unchecked.

He tucked his knees closer to his chest, tearing his gaze away from the discolored flesh. A shaky sigh left him as he winced against the cramp that shot through his midsection. He hoped it was just from hunger, but it probably wasn’t. The discoloration was just an outward sign, but if whatever was in David’s food caused that, then surely, it also wreaked havoc with his insides.

At least, he could try to cover his discomfort with the only known remedy for his constant lower back pain. Hopefully that would keep Robin and David from asking too many questions.

The relief had been indescribable when David’s eyes fluttered open fifty hours ago. They’d instantly offered him water and helped him get his bearings. Especially once he realized his mic had been removed and they were speeding away from the moon. He had looked ghastly, but he demanded answers.

And, shamefully, Killian told him everything.

And now – after the tense exchanges, the emotional pleas, and forced resignation – there wasn’t much left to be said. They tore into the LM rations to lessen anyone having to eat David’s tainted food, but there wasn’t a way around it. Of course, Killian took the contaminated food for himself and would hear no argument from anyone – least of all, from David. He ate as much of it as he could stomach, but it hadn’t taken long to hit him.

Had David felt this miserable leading up to his unconscious spell? If so, Killian marveled that he never once showed it. Fortunately, David had only continued to improve with each passing meal and Killian couldn’t be more grateful for that. They were in this mess because of him, so why should anyone else have to suffer?

Thirty-two more hours. He just had to hang on for thirty-two more hours. He curled up tighter against an anxious squeeze in his chest. He flexed his left hand, grimacing in fear to barely feel his little finger move.

“You don’t look so good.” David’s gentle voice drifted across the CSM.

Killian quickly tucked his left hand against his chest, cracking an eye open to take in the plain concern on David’s face. “I’m alright.” The lie sounded so blatantly false, and he tugged the corner of his mouth up in poor mockery of a playful smile. “Well, nothing that I don’t deserve, at any rate,”

A deep exhale sounded from David as he stared back. “Part of me wants to agree with you. Your actions cost me a lot – nearly cost me my life. But there’s no need for you to become a martyr.”

“We agreed when you woke up what needed to happen,” Killian shook his head, “you need to regain your strength, and I’ve only eaten the bare minimum.”

“Which has already turned you into more of a string bean than you were before launch.”

Killian’s eyes dropped closed, shaking his head. “You of all people shouldn’t waste your concern on me.”

“Maybe not, but you still have to be alive when we splashdown.”

“I plan on it.”

“Good. Then, we’ll start splitting our rations for the rest of the trip – there’s not that many meals left anyway – and whatever my food’s laced with is clearly hitting you harder than it did me.”

Killian offered a weak smile. “Whatever it is, is based on your bloodwork, mate. Not my fault if you’re built with a heartier constitution.” He winced, a tingling pain lancing through his left hand. God, he didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to know.

Robin’s head floated into view, coming down from the LM tunnel. He glanced at Killian’s hurt expression before turning to David. “He’s getting worse, isn’t he?”

David nodded. “We were just talking about that.”

Robin hummed, dropping down into the CSM. “No less than he deserves, I say.”

Killian huffed a pained laugh. “No arguments here, mate.”

“Come on guys, enough.” David’s sharp exasperation matched his glare. “Enough of that. We’ve got another thirty-two hours here before splashdown, and things won’t be any easier once we’re on the ground. Now, we could spend the rest of the trip sullen and angry, trading barbs, continuing to argue – believe me, I am _spoiling_ for a fight over this – but not with you two.”

Robin sent Killian a sidelong look. “I still might punch him again.”

David shook his head firmly. “If what he says is true, then this Gold person backed him in a corner – and he did the best he could. I _have_ to believe he only did what he thought was best.” David continued over Robin’s sharp inhale, over the blazing anger in his gaze. “No, I know what you’re going to say – but it wasn’t our loved ones in the crosshairs. It wasn’t Regina, Roland or Henry – it wasn’t Mary Margaret. But if it had been? Who’s to say we would have done any different, no matter how much we want to slug it out now.”

Robin stared back at him, incredulous. “You are far too generous.”

“Like I said, I _have_ to believe it,” David’s jaw clenched, “this module’s not big enough, otherwise, and this won’t end once we get on the ground.” He scrubbed a hand across his face and up through his oily hair. “Hell, I have to come back from the dead. Honestly, I’ll be lucky if Mary Margaret doesn’t kill me first. To say nothing of exposing this ring of Russian spies within NASA and catching those who are truly responsible for sabotaging this mission. And through all that? We have to stick together.” He sighed. “Otherwise, this mission will truly be a failure. And I _refuse_ to let that happen.”

Killian nodded gently, letting his eyes drift closed as he curled tighter on himself. It helped, but it didn’t hold a candle to laying down on a flat surface. For the first time in his life, he was actually excited about the prospect of a hospital bed.

Relative silence fell around the CSM as, again, there wasn’t much left to say that wasn’t some variant of the former conversation.

It was almost a welcome distraction when Robin hit play on the Patsy Cline tape. _Almost_.

Killian had never been a fan of the twangy guitar notes, feeling them pound against the back of his skull.

He fished in his suit for the creased photograph with his right hand, letting his mind drift back to the warmth and happiness of that afternoon. How cutely uncomfortable Emma had looked in that hard hat. How the scent of flowers and citrus clung to her skin despite the heat of the day. How her smile brightened with budding love as they stood together.

Budding love that gave him some of the happiest memories of his life.

 

_He hadn’t meant to run for so long, but with the reality of a cramped spacecraft looming, he’d take every opportunity to stretch his legs while he still could. He hastily buttoned his trousers, running the towel through his shower wet hair. Stepping back into the bathroom, he hoped that he’d be presentable by the time Emma arrived for their date. He shrugged his shirt over his shoulders as the doorbell rang._

_He did up the bottom few buttons as he walked to the door, opening it to the loveliest site he’d seen all day. Emma’s blonde waves shone with the distant glow of sunset, the seafoam green of her dress playing perfectly with her eyes. “Hello, love.”_

_There was nothing subtle in the rake of her gaze down the open expanse of his shirt and the long line of his legs as he leaned in the doorway. “Hello, yourself.” Her lips quirked with a coy edge. “Sure I’m not interrupting something?”_

_“Perish the thought,” he opened the door wide for her the enter, “just took longer on my run than I planned. Make yourself at home.” He leaned in and met her lips halfway for a gentle, lingering kiss. The months of separation from such sweetness would surely be torture. A lopsided grin lit his face as they drew back. “Won’t be another minute, and then we’ll be off.”_

_She smiled after him as he turned back down the hallway towards his bedroom, hearing her shoes click after him. He did up the rest of his shirt buttons, stepping up to his dresser to fish for a pair of socks. He could hear her rummaging around behind him but didn’t pay it any mind. “Have you had a good Saturday, love?”_

_“Good enough, but it’s about to get a lot better. Is it…is it too late to request a costume change?”_

_He looked over, piqued with interest to see his leather jacket dangling from her fingers. His brows arched, gaze drifting from the jacket up to her eyes that twinkled with excited anticipation. An answering thrill ran through him. “Fancy taking in the movie with a roguish tearaway rather than a proper astronaut, hm?”_

_Her mouth curled with that deliciously embarrassed smirk that she always failed to hide. “Well, we are seeing ‘Invaders from Mars’. One might argue that a man in your profession would be expected to attend, so won’t you need a disguise?”_

_He could have laughed at her blatant subterfuge. Even if she wasn’t wrong, it still blew his mind that she expressed such open interest in such a dark, unconventional look. He pushed the drawer to his dresser closed, swaggering with exaggerated moves and hunger in his gaze as he stepped back up to her, gently plucking the leather from her fingers with a wink. “Why, darling, if you wanted the leather – you should have just asked.”_

_His clothing change didn’t take long and as he draped the pendants around his neck, he couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous. But then, he stepped into the living room and drank in the appreciative hunger that ignited on her face. And then, he heard her low purr when he changed the pitch of his voice and settled into an Irish brogue to converse with the waitress on roller skates. And then, he felt the warm press of her as she scooted across the bench seat to tuck close to his side, sharing the same straw for their strawberry milkshake as the movie unfolded on the screen and the in-car speaker told the tale._

_She licked her lips, chasing the last drop as she pulled back from the straw. “Do you really think Martians would look that much like humans?”_

_He snorted, setting the milkshake back on the dashboard. “I seriously doubt they would be green. Coming from a red planet, that doesn’t say much for natural camouflage”_

_“But we come from a blue planet and our skin’s not blue.”_

_“Our planet just looks blue – an illusion from elastic scattering of solar radiation by particles much smaller than its wavelength that diffuses short-wavelength light more strongly than longer wavelengths, resulting in a color that we perceive as blue.”_

_“Alright, stop,” she shook her head, biting back a grin that edged with annoyed amusement, “sometimes I forget there’s a small engineering brain in that head of yours.”_

_“Oi, careful. It’s not wise to insult the size of a man’s…well, anything.”_

_“Oh, feeling insecure, are we?” Her hand settled to the inseam of his dark jeans, sliding upward. “You don’t strike me as the type. A swaggering scourge like you.”_

_Fire ignited in his blood as her fingers reached his hardening length through the denim. “Mmm, I’m beginning to think my lady has a rather skilled talent at reducing me to a unruly scallywag who will stop at nothing until we’re snogging in this car like teenagers.”_

_The silky laugh that bubbled in her throat was music to his ears. And other parts of his anatomy._

_A woman’s terrified scream sounded over the movie’s speaker as dramatic music blared, but he only heard Emma’s gasping moan as he fit his mouth to hers, chasing every last drop of sweet ice cream on her tongue._

 

Perhaps he should stop thinking about that night. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to the flight surgeon why his respiration and heart rate suddenly increased. The truth of the matter would probably go down as a NASA first, though.

Something on the ridiculous thought tugged his lips to a tired, sideways grin.

“You really love her, don’t you?” David’s soft words mentally shook him, breaking his train of thought.

Killian dragged his gaze over, all manner of snarky comments rolling through his mind. But he was just so tired. He nodded slowly. “Mate, I wouldn’t be in this mess if I didn’t.”

David’s mouth pulled to a sad smile full of understanding. “Would you have married her?”

He looked back to the photograph, his heart aching in want of her. In want of seeing her smile, of drying her tears, of sharing each morning, of seeing where the next fifty years would take them. But all of that seemed like a pipe dream now. After all this, what possible hope of a future with Emma did he have?

He sighed, reaching to shuffle the photograph back into his pocket. “Aye. In a heartbeat.” He fumbled with the motion, still clutching his left hand close.

Of course, David noticed. “You’re favoring your left hand.”

Instinctively, he tried to hide it. “It’s nothing.”

“Let me see.”

Killian winced. “It’s fine…there’s nothing –”

“That’s an order, captain.”

Biting his lip in resignation, he uncurled, letting his arm extend out. The mottled, gnarled skin glared back at him, a visual reminder of the price paid for this mission.

David’s face fell with wide-eyed concern. He didn’t need to state the obvious. All three of them could see the serious gravity of the situation, the rapidly deteriorating state of his health.

He tucked his hand back, feeling too exposed. “It started about thirty hours ago. And it’s spreading.”

“God in heaven,” David breathed, “and I already thought we didn’t have time on our side.”

Patsy Cline continued to sing happily in the background as the mission clock continued to tick.

And there was still was nothing else to do.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of secrets and...witch hunts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 50th anniversary, Apollo 11! These days continue to be filled with fun space images and stories - and a great salute to the achievements of so many. The obvious space nerd in me is so satisfied right now. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for making it here! Change of pace with a short one.

If Emma thought the days leading up to splashdown were torturous, the days immediately following were worse. 

Of course, the landing wasn’t televised. Nor were the networks present to capture photographs or film footage. The whole affair happened quietly and under tight security. There hadn't even been an official circulation of news at KSC. 

The only statement she heard about it came courtesy of the nightly news, but it did little to bring resolution. 

“ _NASA has announced_   _that Apollo 19 achieved successful splashdown at 1:44 pm eastern-standard time this afternoon. All recovery operations proceeded normally and the spacecraft was recovered. With no exposure to the lunar surface, the crew will not process through quarantine procedures. The astronauts are currently en route to Houston, TX for thorough checkout and debriefing. This is indeed a tragic time as the reality of this loss makes itself known here on the planet’s surface. Our thoughts and prayers are with those men and their families as they come to terms with a world that’s less bright than what they knew before. We will continue to provide details as more information comes available. Thank you_.” 

Four days now and still nothing. No new statements on the nightly news. No one at KSC had made any announcements or circulated any memos on the subject. Even Director Midas only stuck to the business of preparing for the Apollo 20 launch, though a dark cloud always seemed to hang over his brow. Admittedly, ever since the news of David’s death first broke, the clouds had never lifted from KSC. And now that Apollo 19 was back on the ground, the reality of that news had settled into a permanent fog. 

Emma twisted the knob on her typewriter, pulling the finished letter free. She only had to type three more copies of it then she could leave for the weekend. Perhaps she would come back to the office tomorrow anyway. There was certainly plenty to be done, and if it helped keep her mind from spiraling with thoughts about Killian, the better. Of course, she hadn’t heard from him since splashdown. She may have had a security detail, but in this instance – she knew nothing more than the average citizen. 

“Emma!” Ruby burst through the open door of the reception suite, wide eyed and upset. “Oh, Emma! What am I going to do?” She closed the door quickly behind her, slapping a hand to her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Emma stood up, face pinched with concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

Ruby’s heavy eyes met hers. “They just arrested Victor Whale! Pulled him right from his desk, whisked him away in cuffs.” 

“What?” Emma couldn’t believe it. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I know it doesn’t! The nurse told me she heard the FBI men say it was on charges of treason - murder, even!"

“That…how’s that even possible?” 

“I don’t know!” Ruby drew a trembling breath. “The nurse just said that they read him his rights and arrested him, lead him away." Her eyes widened with panic. "And, god…what if they suspect me, too? We…we're dating, but I don’t know anything about treason. Or murder!” 

“Ruby, hey. It’s okay,” Emma came around her desk, reaching a hand to Ruby’s arm in a supportive gesture, “they can’t arrest you if you’re innocent.” 

“Oh, yes they can,” she shook her head, biting her lip, “I mean…how – how can Victor possibly be guilty of those things? He…he's a doctor, for Pete’s sake. He took an oath to do no harm!” 

“I’m sure they’ll tell us more eventually.” Emma coaxed her over to the chairs in front of her desk. “They’re keeping such a tight lid on everything, it’s impossible to know anything right now.” 

Ruby’s eyes grew with sudden realization. “You think it has something to do with…what happened on Apollo 19? With...David?” 

Emma’s brow furrowed. “How could that possibly be? They haven’t announced what caused David’s death…how could you possibly think that Victor was involved?” 

“I don’t – I mean, he couldn’t but…like you said - everything’s so secretive right now, it’s hard to feel safe at all. Especially when they’re just arresting loved ones at the office in broad daylight.” 

Emma’s mouth tugged to a soft smile. “I didn’t realize you and Victor were so serious.” 

Ruby met her with a small smile through her tears. “Well…I certainly wanted to be,” she huffed a sigh, “but how could I possibly marry a criminal?” 

“Arrested is not the same as convicted. Surely, they’ve just made a mistake. And you should be just fine, too.” 

“I hope so. This…this just needs to end.” Ruby sniffled, wiping at her face with a frustrated groan. “They just need to stop being so secretive. For a public organization, they’re doing a damn fine job of keeping secrets.” 

Emma offered a weak shrug. “They’ve never lost a man in space before…I’m sure that comes with a lot of red tape.” 

“I know, and I don’t want to seem disrespectful to Mrs. Nolan, my goodness. But…I’m worried about Victor.” 

“I understand,” Emma offered a kind smile, “I worry about Killian, too.” 

“At least, you were given a security detail. And he gave you his watch.” Ruby’s gaze fell to Emma’s wrist longingly. “I wish I had an anchor like that right now.” 

Emma reached for her friend’s hand with a gentle squeeze. “Come on, what’s say we get out of here? It’s Friday afternoon – let’s go to The Wharf. Grilled cheese and onion rings never fails to help with a hurting heart. And beer, of course.” 

Ruby’s lips pulled to a thin smile. “Now, you’re talking.” 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian adjusts to life on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any glaring medical inaccuracies.

Day number thirteen. The therapist told him that he should stop counting. That it would help make things easier. But nothing about this was easy.

Thirteen days ago, they splashed down. Truthfully, there wasn’t much that Killian remembered about it and no one was surprised. He’d been immediately rushed to sickbay aboard the recovery ship and prepped for surgery less than an hour later.

Thirteen days ago, he had what remained of his left hand. And now, now he had…nothing.

Phantom sensations twitched down his arm, and there were times he could almost swear the appendage was still attached. But every time he looked, only the amputated end of his arm remained.  

Thirteen days ago, he knew how to fasten buttons, how to tie a tie, how to shave, how to play guitar…and now…now, he was starting over.

He sniffled back more bitter, angry, heartbroken tears.

The doctor said that poor blood circulation from the zero-g environment coupled with a buildup of toxins from the early stages of kidney failure had led to a runaway case of gangrene. By the time he reached the operating table, the surgeons had no alternative.

And all because of fucking potassium. Hyperkalemia, the doctor called it. A simple fucking, massive overdose of potassium.

The thought made his blood boil.

He’d long confessed everything now and received multiple reassurances that investigations were proceeding. Of course, all three of the crew would remain in secure quarantine until the truth could be brought to light. Between the daily dialysis, rehab for his arm, and the therapist counseling sessions, he couldn’t honestly begrudge it. 

It was a special form of hell that he fully deserved.

Fortunately enough, David recovered with no lingering complications. He’d been far enough removed from the potassium enriched food that with minor care, he returned to full health. But what had been tailored to hit him slowly had hit Killian with a vengeance.

He hadn’t seen much of Robin or David since waking up from surgery. They were both cleared from the medical ward and they visited from the general quarantine wing on occasion. But just like in the CSM, there really wasn’t a lot to say anymore. The trust was broken. The damage done.

He may not have lost another brother to death, but he still lost them all the same.

Actually, that was the only real silver lining he could live with. No one had died. Not David. Not his niece and nephew. Not Emma.

His heart seized in his chest. God, Emma…. What would she think about all this? How could she possibly want him, a betrayer who was now physically – as well as morally – less than a man?

He just hoped that he could be the one to tell her. His communication with the outside world had been completely cut off. There was no phone in his medical ward room. He hadn’t received any letters – not that he expected to. He knew his loyalties were in question, and no one could afford for him to reach out to anyone. Who knew what other heinous crimes he might commit?

At least, it rained today. The sky outside his room window hung thick and heavy with ominous clouds, matching his mood. The therapist told him that time heals all wounds, and that these days, too, would fade. That there was still happiness to be found in his life if he only had the will to look for it.

That’s when the therapist had showed him the newspaper. The front-page photo of Emma plainly wearing his watch and teary-eyed as she watched the launch.

He didn’t know if the therapist was telling the federal investigators about their sessions, but he strongly suspected it. Not that he was able to successfully hide anything from the shrink who chirped like a cricket, but he didn’t have a reason to try. He’d already lost so much; did he really have anything left?

A gentle knock sounded on the door and he straightened up, swiping his thumb against tears in the corners of his eyes.

He turned from the window to see Graham Humbert step into the room. Always stone-faced and serious, the FBI agent had been a constant fixture in Killian’s life for the last thirteen days. “Afternoon, Mr. Jones. How are you today?”

Killian flashed a tight smile, waving his left arm dismissively in its sling. “Still getting used to this damn thing." The sling would serve until he could be fitted with a prosthesis, but it still felt heavy, awkward. Almost as awkward as his new civilian title.

Graham flashed a closed mouth smile. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it. I understand it’s only been a couple of days.”

Killian bit his tongue. Snarking off at the man responsible for determining the fate of his life after release from quarantine wasn’t wise.

“I have some updates for you,” Graham started softly, perfunctory, “our investigations yielded two more arrests yesterday. We’re up to six, and hopefully, we can get a few more names from these last two. You were right on the money about the Mission Control Flight Surgeon. He’s given up more names, and we’re now finding culprits within the KSC medical team.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. “What about Gold?” He knew that Graham’s team had successes exposing spies within NASA, but those were truly the least of his concerns.

“No one has given us anything by that name, but we are following some new external leads. I’d hesitate to use the word optimistic, but the leads appear…promising.”

A distant spark of hope ignited in Killian’s chest. The crocodile may have bloody well cost him his hand, but he’d be damned to see that man roam free after all this. He wrenched a hard swallow. “That’s…I’m pleased to hear it. I hope so.”

“We don’t prefer to leave such matters to hope, but rest assured that we will run those leads to the ground.” Graham’s words carried the firm conviction of a man on a mission, of a man on the hunt. “It’s still officially too early for verdict to be rendered for your actions, but I know you were informed of your removal from the astronaut program, as well as your discharge from military service.”

“Yes.” Not like he could bloody well fly a jet or a rocket with one hand, anyway.

“And regarding your request to have an audience with Emma Swan – I must inform you that request has been denied.”

Killian stiffened, grinding his teeth. He wanted to rail against Graham, demand that he be allowed to speak with her – he wasn’t in prison yet _dammit_ – but he held himself still.

If Graham noticed the shift in Killian’s face, he gave no indication. “I can tell you that once these investigations are concluded, a press conference will be scheduled to set the official record straight. Captains Nolan and Mills will be granted an audience with their wives before the conference, but they will not be privy to the circumstances of the situation until that time. Given that Miss Swan is not legally your wife, the same courtesies will not be extended.” Graham flashed that same closed-mouth smile from earlier. “However, you may write her a letter that we will see delivered to her as soon as the press conference airs. By then, we will have a legal course for your future and the details will no longer be classified. That’s all I can offer you at this time.”

It wasn’t enough. It was nowhere near enough. But it was all Killian had. Slowly, he nodded his head. “Thank you. I appreciate you telling me.”

“Of course,” Graham nodded, taking a step to turn towards the door. “Cheer up, Mr. Jones. The more successful these investigations prove, the brighter and freer your future looks.”

Killian glared darkly at the window. “Small mercies, mate.”

Graham’s parting farewell fell flat against the walls of his room as the door closed.

What good would a bright and free future be without Emma at his side? The sky and the stars were already lost to him, and if Emma rejected him, too – then he might as well be in prison.

He glared over at the small desk opposite the bed.

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants gets what he deserves.

Maybe he wouldn’t be able to break the news to her first, but he’d be damned if he didn’t even try. She deserved better than that – she always had – and she deserved to know the truth.

With a shaky sigh, he dragged over to the desk and reached for a pen, wondering where in the hell to start. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes to light.

“Have you heard anything?” Zelena dropped into the chair next to Emma with a curious buzz. “No one seems to know anything about this press conference.” 

Emma shook her head. “Nothing. Just that Director Midas said to gather here for it. But that’s what everyone else here knows.” Glancing around the cafeteria, it was quite surprising that so many people could actually fit. A large screen had been set up at the front of the room and a low murmur hummed as small groups talked around tables, waiting for this mysterious press conference to start. 

She'd tried to stop counting the days. But it had almost been a full month. A full month of no more news statements. A full month of grieving for Mary Margaret - and still no word on David's funeral. Honestly, Emma was just as incensed as Mary Margaret about the whole thing. What right did NASA have to stand between her and a proper funeral - a hero's burial - for her husband? She could hear the frustration and anger in Mary Margaret's voice from their phone calls echo in her mind as she continued to glance around the cafeteria. 

And that was all to say nothing of the silence from Killian. The only thing she knew was courtesy of Mary Margaret - ongoing investigations. That seemed to be the favorite phrase ever since Apollo 19 landed. Ongoing investigations prevented the scheduling of David's service. Ongoing investigations kept the crew in strict isolation. Ongoing investigations kept the rest of the world in the dark. 

It was enough to drive a sane person mad. Even Killian's watch was starting to lose its comfort factor. 

Ruby sighed, drawing Emma's attention, as she shook her head. “I hope they explain what’s been going on. Ever since Apollo 19 landed, I feel like we’ve been living in a witch-hunt.” 

There had been at least four more confirmed arrests out of KSC since Victor Whale was arrested. Arrested and not released. Ruby still hadn’t come to terms with it, and of course, she’d been told nothing officially or otherwise. 

In fact, the whole complex sat on pins and needles, now suddenly awaiting whatever this new conference promised. 

Zelena groaned with a frustrated roll of her eyes. “No one knows anything! It’s annoying. And downright uncanny. Seven arrests and no one knows anything!” 

Emma looked to her, brow pinched. “Seven? I’ve only heard of five.” 

“They picked up two more earlier this week. Some mail room clerk and a security guard.” 

Good gracious. Just what was happening here? Emma shook her head, incredulous. “Surely not more charges of treason?” 

“So they say,” Zelena's faced narrowed at the accusing look from Ruby, "what? Winston wasn't my _only_ friend in the security office." She looked back to the big screen as static flickered to life and a speaker crackled. "My money says they’re all Russian spies. Who else would stand to gain so much from infiltrating NASA?” 

Ruby scoffed. “Russian spies, Zelena? Really?” She shook her head, crossing her arms against her chest. “Victor does not work for the Russians.”

Zelena quirked a brow. “Not that you know of.”

The line of static faded to a brilliant scene of color, revealing the setting of the press conference. It looked eerily similar to the pre-mission press conference to announce the prime crew – a table with three chairs and microphones, and a podium on the far left of the stage. Emma’s heart sunk at the visual – were they really going to bring out Robin and Killian, leaving David’s empty chair as a reminder?

_The stern figure of the NASA Director trekked a lone path across the stage to the podium, bursts of camera flashes lighting the room. “Good afternoon. Thank you all for your time today. The format for this press conference will proceed with prepared remarks, followed by a short Q &A. No questions will be taken until the prepared remarks are completed.” _

The din in the cafeteria died away as everyone watched.

_The Director shuffled his note cards. “As the world knows, Apollo 19 achieved lift off at 0 hours, 0 minutes mission time, to embark on her journey to the lunar surface. As the spacecraft approached lunar orbit, at 72 hours, 42 minutes mission time, Commander David Nolan lost consciousness as reported by Astronaut Mills and confirmed by the Mission Control Flight Surgeon. And at 73 hours, 26 minutes mission time, David Nolan’s heart rate flatlined. These are the facts as the world knows them today, but since the splashdown of the Command Service Module almost one month ago, we have learned so much more.”_

_He paused, shuffling his cards at the camera flashes fell silent. “We have learned that – through various means of compensation, coercion, and blackmail – a group of Russian spies had infiltrated NASA.”_

A collective gasp rose from the press conference audience and in the cafeteria. Zelena’s face brightened with a giddy smirk. “What did I tell you?!”

_The Director continued. “A group of Russian spies who plotted to undermine the integrity of Apollo 19 and bring about ultimate failure of the mission. These spies were comprised of people in all levels of our organization at both Kennedy Space and the Manned Spacecraft Centers – from security guards, to the vehicle assembly line, to the medical corps, the Apollo 19 Flight Surgeon – and even one member of the crew.”_

The cafeteria fell deafeningly silent. Emma’s heart beat wildly as the words sunk in. A Russian spy on the crew? Who was it? Robin or Killian? How could it possibly be either of them?

_“With the death of David Nolan in the vacuum of space, these spies had achieved their objective – which is why it gives me immense joy and pride to set the record to rights, and declare that these attempts to sabotage, undermine and end a man’s life have spectacularly failed.” A murmur rose in the crowd as a smile finally breached the Director’s somber face. “I am pleased beyond measure to welcome the crew of Apollo 19 to the stage – Astronauts Mills, Jones and Nolan.”_

A deafening, thunderous roar rose from the audience and the assembled crowd in the cafeteria. She watched, stunned as Robin lead the way with David close behind – offering a wave and a nod to the crowd – with Killian coming out last, his left arm bound in a sling. Emma’s heart clenched at the sight – he looked so pale and...why did he have a sling? The whole image of the three men together on stage – of David, alive and breathing – seemed impossible. Too many questions flooded her mind.

She stared, transfixed at the screen as the crew walked around the table to take their seats. God, Killian looked so frail as he leaned against the table, dropping to his chair with an obvious air of fatigue.

_The Director motioned to the crowd for quiet. “The unclassified facts of the mission are these: by means of coercion and death threats against loved ones, Captain Killian Jones acted to smuggle Commander David Nolan’s medical records out of Kennedy Space Center. Once in the hands of the Russian agents, they conspired to add an excess of potassium to the commander’s food rations. This would ensure a slow onset of hyperkalemia – an overdose of potassium – that would lead to the commander’s death during the flight. When Commander Nolan slipped into unconsciousness at 72 hours, 42 minutes, the exact nature of his ailment was unknown to the crew.”_

Emma couldn’t believe it. Her gaze flitted to Killian, taking in the dark, haunted look on his pale face. Who had the Russians possibly threatened? Surely not…her? She gulped, feeling her stomach knot as the director continued.

_“Suspecting poison and the true intentions of the Flight Surgeon, Jones confessed his involvement to Captain Robin Mills, and devised a plan to fake the commander’s death in hopes of flushing out the true Russian agents.”_

“Oh my god.” Ruby’s voice trembled, a hand rising to her mouth.

_“With Commander Nolan’s biomonitor wire cut and the reassurances from the crew, Mission Control logged David Nolan as deceased. Upon splashdown – already heavily restricted due to the sensitive nature of the situation – the three astronauts were discovered in various states of physical health, and all received appropriate levels of medical care. The true nature of David Nolan’s survival became highly classified information as the details unfolded and suspicions were investigated. The Mission Control Flight Surgeon was the first arrest made, followed by three more that same day. In total, sixteen personnel have been arrested in conjunction with these crimes, including three from outside NASA and the man who personally threatened Captain Jones. Prosecutions are currently proceeding in all cases.”_

_Killian’s eyes dropped closed, face pinched tight, as if he still couldn’t believe the news. His shoulders shook with a visible exhale._

_“For his own actions in the events that unfolded during Apollo 19, Killian Jones is removed from the NASA Astronaut Program and discharged from military service. But given his actions to see to the safe return of Commander Nolan to Earth, and at the strong insistence of the Nolan family, he will not be further prosecuted.”_

Where other men might have bowed their head in shame, Killian held his head firm – contrite and fully accepting of the punishments levied against him. If anything, he looked almost wary – as if he expected bigger repercussions still to come.

_“Commander David Nolan will retire from active space flight – as he announced prior to the Apollo 19 launch. And Captain Robin Mills is restored to active flight status in the Astronaut Program.” The Director paused, looking over at the three men before looking out over the crowd. “To date, the record has stood that this mission is a failure – but this mission could not have been a greater success. In the face of odds that should have been impossible to overcome, all three of our men returned home alive. We have never lost a man in space, and that will not start with the legacy of Apollo 19. From this attack, we are stronger. From this threatening foe, we are more united than we have ever been. We will continue to explore and reach beyond the limits of this world into our vast solar system with the prosperity of peace – because that is what NASA stands for. That is who we are. And that is who we will always be.”_

_The crowd erupted with cheering, deafening applause._

Echoing applause rose in the cafeteria, people rising to their feet in solidarity and support. Emma stood up alongside Ruby and Zelena, the applause falling deaf on her ears as she only had eyes for Killian. He braced a hand against the table, slowly rising to stand alongside David and Robin, offering a weak smile to the crowd. Sure, he had returned alive but why did each movement seem like a struggle for him?

_The Director nodded solemnly out at the crowd. “Thank you. This concludes the prepared remarks portion of the conference, and we will now begin the Q &A. Please note due to ongoing investigations not all questions may be answered at this time.” _

_“Mark Frost, ABC News.” A man spoke over a microphone. “Commander Nolan – wonderful news to see you alive and well, sir. Were you involved with the decision to fake your own death? Did you think about the impact that would have on your family? On your wife?”_

_David licked his lips, leaning forward. “Thank you for your well wishes. And no, I was still unconscious when that decision was made. When I awoke, they explained the situation and after evaluating all the facts at my disposal, I wouldn’t have recommended a different course of action. The impact to my family – my wife – was certainly considered, but as we agreed – sparing temporary grief at the actual expense of my life was a far worse path.”_

_More anxious murmurs from the crowd until another voice rose above the rest. “Taylor Marshall, Florida Sun. The Director mentioned that Killian Jones had a direct role to play in betraying you to the Russians – yet he sits beside you now and no charges are levied against him. Can you elaborate?”_

_David’s face hardened with a firm edge. “It’s easy to vilify Killian’s role in this, but that’s a gross under simplification. It wasn’t your loved ones in the crosshairs, Taylor. It wasn’t mine – I don’t know what I would have done in the same situation. So, far be it for me to judge. I’ll reserve that for a higher power and say what I told Killian up there – he was backed in a corner and did the best he could.”_

She watched a pained, somber wince flash across Killian’s face, her heart going out to him. Despite all the gracious things being said about him in the face of his betrayal, he looked to be punishing himself far worse than anyone else planned to.

_“Mark Roberts, Washington Post. Captain Mills – it seems that you were rather an unwitting victim as this drama of betrayal played out. What was your reaction when you learned that it cost you the moon? And in the wake of that knowledge, how did you work with Mr. Jones on a path to fake the commander’s death?"_

Mr. Jones. Emma startled at the use of the civilian title.

_Robin blew a sigh, shifting forward. “To be perfectly honest, I’m still angry about it. It's too early to say if part of me always will be – but Killian can certainly attest to the punch I dealt him when he confessed his true involvement. But even after that…,” he fished around for a thought, shrugging gently, “we still only had each other left up there. With David out for the count, we had to find a way. And as I came to better understand the severity of the situation – we could no longer trust David’s life to the direction of others – and that lead us here.”_

_“Erin Brandt, Atlanta Times. Of the three of you, Mr. Jones appears to be the physically worse for wear, yet Commander Nolan was the first afflicted. Was it only the commander’s food rations that were tampered with?”_

_Killian bit his lip, meeting David’s gaze with a gentle shake of his head._

_David started to talk anyway. “He won’t admit it, but after I regained consciousness, we switched food rations. I wanted to insist differently – none of us needed to eat the then-unknown substance that was in my food – but there wasn’t enough for the three of us otherwise. I know he did it to try and assuage his guilt, but it takes bravery to eat food that you know will make you ill and could potentially kill you. In this case, since the potassium addition was concocted for my blood chemistry, it impacted Killian differently – harder. The medical team said he was hours away from kidney failure when we landed and they started dialysis just in time, but it’s a road to recovery that will impact the rest of his life.”_

Emma exhaled shakily, tears stinging her eyes.

_David clapped a supportive hand to Killian’s shoulder. “He’ll be the first to say that he’s not a hero in this tale, but nor is he truly a villain. The real world isn’t that simple. It never will be. We’re all heroes, and we’re all villains with sins to atone for – and our tale just happened to unfold in front of an international audience. And yes – it’s disappointing, it’s frustrating, it_ hurts _– but there is forgiveness to be found. And each new day is a fresh chance. A chance at grace. A chance to work at being the best people we can - because there is so much more to our lives than the events of the past two weeks.”_

* * *

Emma’s head spun. There was so much to think about, she didn’t even know where to begin. She walked numbly back to her office, trying to process the overwhelming amount of information from the press conference.

How was she possibly expected to get any work done now? She closed the office door behind her, leaning against it for a moment to take a deep breath, tears heavy in her eyes.

It seemed impossible. Killian almost died. David wasn’t dead. The Russians had most likely threatened her life. And now, Killian was simply Mr. Jones.

She exhaled shakily, taking another deep breath for clarity and composure.

That’s when her eyes strayed to her desk and the letter that sat pristine on top of her typewriter. It hadn’t been there before she left for the press conference.

Pushing off the door, she walked over to it – recognizing the looping script of the handwriting. She tore into it with an eager fervor, eyes wide and heart racing to pour over every word.

_Dearest Emma,_

_By now, the press conference has aired and you’ve learned the unsavory truth of what transpired during the mission. Unsavory not in that David returned alive, but in the deception that has been propagated these past weeks. I claim no innocence for my role in this, only my immeasurable regret that circumstances prevented me from being more forthright. Even more regrettably, Mrs. Nolan and Mrs. Mills have also been kept just as blind to the true nature of events, though I understand they will be extended the courtesy of private audiences with their husbands before we take the international spotlight. I fought for a similar audience with you and was summarily denied. A fitting punishment for myself, but you deserve far fairer treatment – alas, this letter will presently have to suffice._

_They say we reap as we sow, and I continue to reap for the sins I have sowed. We haven’t spoken to each other of the first loves who hurt us, but we each carry the scars. For my part, my scar came in the shape of a man. A man simply known as Mr. Gold, though he proved anything but simple._

_My first love, Milah, told me that he was a coward. A man far too fearful of losing everything to realize that he’d already lost it. She may have been his wife by law, but she held my heart and I hers. Life bestowed loving generosity in our time together but I was too youthful, blind - arrogant - to see it. All too quickly, fate reunited our path with her jilted husband and all the dark ugliness of the criminal underworld that he commanded. I watched him take her from me - powerless to do anything but hold her as the light faded from her eyes, all while he stood there with crocodile tears. He spared me so that I would endure the heartache of loss - so that I would share his pain. But it didn’t end there._

_Revenge is a nasty thing. A demon that only destroys no matter how much we believe it will heal. And I nearly let it destroy me. But life gave me a second chance - a second chance that lead me to Houston and then to Florida. To you._

_I never dreamed the crocodile would find me here. But then, our scars never truly leave us. And just as before, he knew exactly where to press his advantage, knew exactly who I hold dear – starting with my deceased brother’s children and ending with the love of my life. No matter how my actions are vilified in the coming days, I did what I did to protect you all. With David, I could watch him close – but from the vacuum of space, I could do nothing for you or those children - and I refused to powerlessly lose another loved one at the crocodile’s hands._

_Even with that said, I’m still not convinced the consequences visited upon me quite match my crimes, but David vehemently disagrees. I don’t know what he’s planning to say about it all during the press conference, but I suspect his words will be far more gracious than I should be allowed. There was certainly nothing noble or self-sacrificing about any of it, and I know you’re far too sensible to believe such rubbish._

_I’ve spent a great deal of my recovery in argument with myself about how to tell you all this – and this letter is just the start. Perhaps, more appropriately, it’s a promise. An affirmation of my words to you on our last morning together – you had all of me then, and you still do. The good and the bad. For better, for worse. Everything I have to give is yours to command._

_They’re releasing us late next week and my first stop will be Florida. I made another promise to you on that last morning – and after everything now, it is your choice whether or not to accept it. In two weeks, Saturday the 24_ _th_ _, from 1400-1700 hrs, I will be waiting on the boardwalk where you found me that morning, caught in between the worst night and the best morning I could remember._

_Selfishly, I hope you will accept. Should you choose otherwise, please know that I will understand your position and quietly withdraw to never darken your prow again. Regardless of your decision, I pray you will keep my watch as a reminder of the piercing-eyed, smoldering pirate who will love you until the end of his days._

_Yours,_ _  
_ _Killian_


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, life has sucked me up, but here's the long awaited conclusion. Thank you, thank you to everyone who's made it this far! And for those who offered encouragement and kudos along the way - an extra helping of thanks! Those notification emails always make me smile. 
> 
> Cheers until next time, y'all!
> 
> And keep the debut of Nat Geo's "The Right Stuff" on your calendar for 2020 where Mercury Astronaut Colin comes to life!

_2 Weeks Later, Saturday the 24th_

Perspiration clung to Killian's skin beneath the black leather jacket and along the fine hairs of dark scruff that now covered his jaw. But after two months of highly conditioned and purified air, the heat and humidity were a welcome change. As were the sights, sounds and scents of life around him. The CSM and recovery facility had been both paradoxically sterile and germ-infested, and the boardwalk was truly a breath of fresh life.

Well, it would be when Emma arrived. _If_ Emma arrived.

He tugged up the sleeve of his jacket, glancing down at the time. 3:24 pm. Almost half the time had elapsed and no sign of her.

He exhaled, trying to dispel the anxiousness that pitted in his stomach. At least, if she denied him now, his conscience could bear it. Sure, there was plenty more that he longed to tell her, but he could live with the peace that writing the letter had afforded him. 

Living with the heartbreak of losing Emma, however, would be something else.

He purposefully hadn’t brought his rum flask to the boardwalk, but it waited for him back in the cool confines of his hotel room. If she left him here to bake in the hot sun on his own, then maybe he would try his luck at alcoholic poisoning tonight.

Then again, there was still 94 minutes left. Maybe she was tied up in other plans and just hadn’t broken free yet. Or, perhaps, she had just parked and was walking towards him right now. But, of course, this gesture was ridiculous – he knew where she lived. He could go to Mrs. Lucas’ boarding house and ask for Emma, leave a phone number – wait on the curb for her return.

“Excuse me, young man?” 

Killian arched a brow at the sudden voice, glancing up through a loose curl of dark hair to see a most unwelcome face. Bloody hell, how did he get so unlucky? He stared back at the PR man - Walsh Morgan - clearly recognizing him but wondering if Walsh recognized him in return. If so, why bother with the Irish accent? “What the bloody hell do you want?” 

“What do I…,” Walsh’s words trailed off, eyes widening with stunned disbelief, “...Killian? Is that...my goodness, you….” 

Killian’s mouth curled with disgust, as he gestured with a ring-laden hand. “I look different, so what of it?” 

“I, just…,” Walsh steeled himself with a breath, “this is a family-friendly pier and your presence is...disturbing.”

Killian could barely believe it. He looked down at his posture on the picnic table bench, slouched backwards to rest his elbows on the tabletop, and then to his clothing - his jeans weren’t ripped, nothing obscene was exposed, his jacket covered more than a respectable amount of skin. “Am I doing something not family-friendly?”  

“Are you kidding? Dressed like a hooligan? You’re scaring my nieces, for one. Probably some other people who don’t take kindly to the presence of a punk….” The word sparked a recognition in Walsh’s gaze. A realization that made him bristle and his face harden. “Wait...what are you doing here?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m waiting for someone. So, if you find my sheer presence of sitting here and breathing so distasteful, then you can just go -” 

“Who are you waiting for?” Walsh interrupted firmly. “Is it...Emma?” 

Killian’s face hardened, not wanting to betray anything to her former lover. 

“My god, it is - otherwise, you’d just say,” Walsh’s voice was soft with utter bewilderment, “and that...that was _you_ with her at the drive-in….” He drew a deep breath, scowling down at Killian. “You know, I told her months ago that she deserved better than you. And that was back when I just thought you were disrespectful in your public treatment of her - but now that you’re a liar and a betrayer? You’re not even fit to kiss her feet.” 

_“_ Careful, mate, ” Killian growled, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Walsh scoffed, eyes wide with amusement. “That’s rich coming from you - the man who couldn’t even own up to his crimes on international television, just left it to your commander to talk for you.” 

Killian glowered ahead, not rising to the bait. It simply wouldn’t do to knock some sense into the PR man right here on the boardwalk in broad daylight. No matter how much bad form the man displayed. 

Walsh shook his head with obvious disgust. “Well, I hope she leaves you here to rot. Whatever you’ve promised her, or whatever flowery words you used to try and lure her here - she’s far too smart to fall for it. Especially now that she knows what you _really_ are.” 

Killian ground his teeth, clenching his hand. “At least, she’s still mine to lose. At least, I never denied who she is, and certainly never pressured her into anything. You talk about her being far too smart - and aye mate, you’re bloody right - she saw through me and she saw through you. Yet only one of us is still in the running.” He sighed, rolling up to look at the PR man. “Now, if you’re so concerned about your nieces that you approached who you thought was a total stranger to ask him to leave, then it’s high time that you see to their well-being and leave me be.” 

He looked away from Walsh, a clear dismissal. There was simply nothing else to say to the man. 

At length, he heard Walsh’s retreating footsteps and he glanced back down to his watch. 3:39 pm. 

He took a deep breath, trying to dispel everything that Walsh’s words stirred to the surface, and did the only other thing he promised Emma that he would do. 

He waited. 

X

Emma reread the letter for what must have been the hundredth time. The paper creases were firmly worn, even tearing in a place from the sheer number of times she’d folded and refolded. But his looping, scrolling handwriting still held her like a spell.

Maybe that was why she still sat in her car. Sweat trickled down her spine despite the lowered windows as she sat in the parking lot, pouring over the heartfelt words yet again. She glanced to his watch on her wrist. 3:53 pm. According to his letter, he had been waiting on the boardwalk for almost two hours now with one hour left. 

One hour until he disappeared from her life forever. 

The mere thought rotted her stomach and opened a pit in her chest. Those feelings alone should have made it the answer, right? Yet she still sat in the driver’s seat, feeling like she stood on the edge of a cliff. It exhilarated her. It terrified her. 

God, the revelation alone that he’d betrayed his commander, his crew, his career all for her and his loved ones should terrify her. If he loved her so fiercely, then what other lengths might he go to in order to keep her? Did she want to live with that responsibility? Did she want to torture them both with the prospect of traumatic loss and life-enduring heartache? 

But the sudden force of her driving, true love for him had taken her breath away. Not three months ago, she thought she’d found happiness - with her job, with Walsh. And now...now here she stood staring down at two pages that promised a whole new lease on life. A whole new world of happiness and love that she’d never thought possible. Yes, he had his demons and she had her landmines - but...surely, they could find a common ground - a way to navigate the pitfalls together. 

Wasn’t that how true love should work? 

She refolded the pages, holding them close to her chest as she released a deep breath. Was there going to be a better time to jump - for her to choose love and hope over insecurities and fear? 

Reaching for the door handle, she stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The parking lot sat far enough away from the boardwalk that when it came into view, a thrill of anticipation ran through her. That, and the nervous energy of sheer anxiety. What if she was too late? What if he had given up or been delayed? 

Her feet carried her faster over the paved sidewalk and onto the first wooden planks. After seeing the boardwalk so deserted on her morning runs - in particular, the morning that she found him sprawled on a bench - it was strange to see it humming with life. The food stalls opened to display their bright signs and price tags; people buzzed to and fro between stalls and tables; relaxed conversation and childrens’ laughter floated on the gentle breeze. 

But each face, each person she saw became a chance - a hope that she would spot him in the crowd. Her head turned with her roving eyes, searching for any sign of his familiar face as she clutched his letter tighter. She neared the main grouping of picnic tables - and her breath caught. 

He stuck out like a sore thumb but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Dressed in dark jeans with his leather jacket - he was easily the darkest spot among all the bright beachgoers. His dark hair looked delectably tousled and - _oh wow_ , dark facial hair decorated his jaw, making the brilliant blue of his eyes pop against a barely-there dusting of dark eyeliner to match. His pendant necklace rested against the skin bared by the open neckline of his shirt to complete the look. 

She didn’t care that she had stopped to stare. Seeing him here, seeing him like this...he had promised her everything. And that’s exactly what she wanted. 

Her heart felt close to bursting as a lovestruck smile lit her face. When he finally - at last! - looked in her direction and his eyes met hers, she couldn’t stop the tears. Especially as his face slackened with awestruck wonder and overwhelming relief. The loving adoration in his gaze stunned her - how had she gone so many weeks without seeing it? How could she ever deny the absolute joy and feeling of belonging that came with entering Killian’s orbit? 

She sniffed quietly, taking small steps closer to him as the rest of the world faded to the background. He pushed off the bench to stand as she approached, still looking just as blown away as she felt. The force of her smile threatened to split her face as a grin teased the corner of his mouth before exploding wide with unadulterated love and happiness.

After so many weeks, after so many television screens and so many hundreds of thousands of miles - he was here - they were here. _Together._

She flew towards him, the letter fluttering down to the boardwalk. Their chests crashed together as she flung her arms around his neck and his hand rose to cradle the back of her head, pulling her in close with the other. He smelled of spice and leather as she buried her face into the warm skin of his neck. His hand carded gently through her blonde locks as he held her, rocking her gently. It felt like coming home - it was everything she’d ever wanted. Her tears rolled down to his shirt collar as she toyed with the soft hair on his nape. 

He nuzzled against the shell of her ear, pressing a tender kiss. “I can’t even begin to tell you how... _happy_ I am to see you, Emma. I had started to doubt that you would come.” 

“I know, I’m sorry - it’s just…,” she shook her head against him with a hiccuping laugh, “there’s so much and it’s real - and it’s overwhelming that I don’t even know where to start. All I know is that we have so much to talk about and that...wherever you are in this world is where I want to be.” Her hold on him tightened as she burrowed into him. “I love you, Killian.” 

He angled his head, brushing his nose against her cheek. “I love you, too, Emma. So unbelievably much.” He sighed heavily. “But god knows I don’t deserve it - your love, your happiness, your forgiveness. Any of it.” 

She sniffled, pulling back to meet his heavy eyes. “No. You don’t get to talk like that, you hear? You...you almost died...and I don’t know…” That’s when she noticed it. Only one of his hands splayed across her back to hold her. The other held a stiff position against the small of her back and felt...hard - almost like plastic. 

She drew a sharp breath as realization slammed into her and Killian winced. Unwinding a hand from around him, she reached around to her back, resting her hand over the appendage, feeling the hard, unyielding shape. “Why...you didn’t tell me? What...what happened?” Her eyes searched his face for the answer, hearing David’s words from the press conference bounce around in her mind. “Are...are you alright?” 

“It’s...the damage is done. It’s no longer life threatening they tell me.” He shook his head, shame eating at him. “Not only was I acting less than a man by betraying my crewmates - but the fates deemed it fitting to make me also physically less of a man. I...I was weak and I paid the price.” 

“Weak? You...you survived all of that and you call yourself weak? How long did you live with all that knowledge?” She swallowed hard. “And yes, I want to be terrified that you betrayed an entire government organization to protect me and I am...but that’s just - god, we _really_ have to talk about you never doing that again.” 

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” He shook his head slowly. “If only for the simple fact that I don’t measure up in any respect.” 

“Hey,” she fixed him with a firm stare, her gaze narrowing, “let me be the judge of that. Even with all this, you’ve never outright lied to me. And believe me, we are going to have it out about omission - but.” She stopped, sighing gently. “Your letter was a promise, right? A promise that you mean to honor?” 

He nodded gently, his blue eyes so painfully earnest. “Till death do us part. If you’ll have me.” 

Emma matched his nod, wrapping her arm around him again to hold him close. She felt his hold on her tighten as they swayed together, breathing each other in. “Not today…but we’ll get there.” She pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his neck. “Together.” 

“Aye, love.” He brushed an answering kiss to her hairline. “Together.”


End file.
